The Robin and the Swan
by DreamsWanderer
Summary: A Robin Hood AU (Sherwood Frozen) born from Tumblr –Prince Hans of Denmark arrives in the Duchy of Arendelle, but soon lady Anna starts to suspect he might be up to something. Since her older sister and Duchess, Elsa, has shut herself away from responsibilities after their parents' death, it's up to Anna to save the day... so she runs to the woods and becomes an outlaw: Robin Hood.
1. Cold Waters

**prologue  
COLD WATERS**

* * *

_[Arendelle – September 1520]_

Anna ran. She felt the tall grass brushing against her legs, her skirt swinging around her as she sped through the fields. The harsh and unforgiving northern wind whipped at her face, ripping her hair from her braids and sending it flying behind her. Her breath condensed in her wake and her lungs burned as the pain in her legs, but she couldn't stop running.

They were after her – _she knew it_.

Her mind swam in fear as she desperately thought of everything she had done to conceal her flight. She had left her ladylike clothes behind in exchange of a simpler skirt, cotton undershirt and leather corset – a pair of trousers would have been the best option of course, but she hadn't had the chance to get her hands on one of those. She had walked the narrow lanes and dark alleys, keeping away from the bigger and more crowded streets of her beloved Arendelle in order to avoid being noticed. She had headed for the fields and kept off the beaten track, hoping that her pursuers would have never thought that _Lady Anna _would have darted through the tall grass and the sticky mud.

She had done all she could have done… and it might have been enough if it hadn't been for Elsa.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and were immediately swept away by the wind as the agonized cry that had torn itself from Elsa's throat resonated in her ears. But Anna shook her head and stubbornly ran on, denying herself the weakness to trip.

She had to get as far away as she could – _she had to get away from her own home, from her own beloved sister_.

The urge to scream her frustration pooled in her throat, but she fought it back – she couldn't allow herself to run out of breath. Yet such thoughts raged on in her mind as she cursed the day that damned Prince of Denmark had shown up on their doorstep.

"_It's all his fault._" she growled in her own mind, angry both at him and at her own self – because after all she was the one who had been taken in by his alluring demeanor, she was the one who had opened the castle doors to him, even though whatever charm he used to hold on her had died away quickly as soon as she had noticed the way he had been looking at _Elsa_. "_He never wanted to help._"

She heard the roaring stream before she saw the dark skyline of the forest, blurred by the painful, warm tears in her eyes, and something sang within her as her shoes struck the rock of the riverbank. They weren't likely to follow her in there: according to the rumors, the forest was haunted – _Frost Wood_, they called it.

…yet, she thought, a few more precautions weren't going to hurt anyone. For that very reason she decided to cross the river there and then, on that slimy line of rocks instead of heading up to the nearest bridge – because doing so would have interrupted the trail she knew her scent was leaving behind, just in case they had chose to track her down with the hounds.

Carefully, ever so carefully, she began to tread her way across the rocks that served her as an improvised ford, hopping from one stone to the other.

But careful wasn't going to be enough: the rock was slippery, covered with moss and coated with frost, and the night was dark, even darker there because of the pitch black shadows cast from the branches of the forest that blocked out the faint moonlight.

All it took was a little hesitation, a small misstep, a slight slip.

Anna fell, the freezing waters surrounding her, filling her lungs and soaking her clothes. The shock of the cold was so intense she barely felt herself hit the bottom.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello hello, dearies!  
I know, I know, this is really short... but it's a prologue, and I've never been famous for long prologues. Chapter one's longer, I promise!  
So just one thing I want to say about this story: I took inspiration from a thread that started on Tumblr, which we nicknamed 'Sherwood Frozen', for a Robin Hood AU that sees Anna as Robin Hood, Elsa as Maid Marion and Kristoff as Little John. We got some headcanons going and I 'volunteered' to write my own version of said headcanons. This story is the result.  
Hope you'll enjoy the ride! If you do, please make sure to leave a little comment here and there, they keep me happy and mean the world!  
Love,

_Clarisse_


	2. Outlaws among the Trees

**chapter one****  
OUTLAWS AMONG THE TREES_  
_**

* * *

[_Fylkesskog Forest – September 1522_]

Kristoff sighed, his breath condensing and coming out in puffs before his eyes. He shuddered slightly, uncomfortable on the wooden seat of his wagon, the cold of the forest pressing onto him as the dampness caused by the recent rains tried to crawl under his skin just like the swirling mist crept through leaves and branches.

He shuddered, bringing his arms closer to his chest and hiding his chin into the collar of his clothes, cursing the humidity of the undergrowth. It wasn't like he couldn't handle low temperatures – he was an ice harvester, for crying out loud – but dry freezing air was one thing and damp misty cold was another matter entirely.

He hoped it wasn't going to be too long before he could reach the end of that stupid forest – it had taken him _so_ long to find the path… he had been going around in circles for most of the day. And now sunset wasn't too far away and the damp cold was finally getting to him – and it felt like it wanted to steal the warmth away from his very heart.

"_Serves you right for taking a shortcut you've only _heard_ of…_", said a little, boyish voice into his head. "_They don't call it Frost Wood for nothing._"

He sighed again, a shiver running down his spine: the fierce cold that lingered and coiled between the trees wasn't the only reason why the spooky forest had earned its nickname – even he, isolated as he was in the depth of the mountains along with the ice harvesters, had heard the stories. Ghost stories. And a lot of them at that, one more unlikely than the other one.

But ghost stories were just that, he reminded himself as he shook his head stubbornly: _stories_. There were no ghosts he should have been worrying about… though making it out of the woods before nightfall was probably a good idea – ghosts or no ghosts.

With such a resolve in mind he clicked his tongue loudly, urging his horse forward. The mare – Dawn, a white fjord horse – responded instantly by picking up some speed, the worn leather straps of her thick Dutch collar tensing. Kristoff almost swore out loud when a high bump made his teeth collide, casting a glance over his shoulders to make sure his load was still in place – luckily, it was.

He turned his eyes back on the road, eyeing it with hatred. He had found the forest path out of luck and just because he had left Dawn in charge for a bit, hoping that her instincts would head them the right way – they had –, but the road wasn't really any smoother than the bushy, uneven forest soil: there were deep wheel ruts engraved into it – it was a well traveled route after all since it was the fastest way to enter Arendelle's lands – because of the mud left behind by the recent rains.

"_Worn road, cold weather and hours spent just looking for said road._" his inner thoughts remarked. "_Maybe you should have stayed up in the mountains and let someone else take care of the delivery…_"

Yeah, he should have definitely stayed up, at the lake, fighting his own battle against the ice. Right now he couldn't even remember why he had agreed to deliver the load himself in the first place…

He muttered more curses, but immediately set his jaw when the cart bobbed and shook as the road grew even more uneven, trying to prevent biting his own tongue off. That ride definitely wasn't meant to be a pleasant one, Kristoff decided, groaning in exasperation and keeping his teeth clenched.

In that very moment, the wheels of the wagon went over another, higher bump… and that was it: he heard a snap and immediately the cart came to a halt with no warning whatsoever, throwing him off balance and knocking him out of his seat. The young man fell forward, eyes shutting and arms extending automatically but pointlessly – because he knew he was about to crash into the backside of his horse…

…but no, he crashed into the ground instead, hands first, the somewhat soft mud splashing all over his face as his chin landed right into a puddle.

«Ouch! Wait, wh–» he yelped, a jolt of pain going up his spine.

Blinking away the tears caused by the impact and focusing his gaze, Kristoff realized three things: first, his cart had stopped; second, there were severed leather straps on the ground; third, his horse was happily trotting away.

«W-wait! Dawn!» he called, scrambling to his feet and starting after the mount. «Wait, come back!»

Unheard by the big blond man, already on the run to get his faithful steed back, a quiet chuckle shook one of the bushes.

After a moment a figure emerged from the undergrowth – a lean silhouette, wearing green and brown, a hood covering the head and obscuring the features. The outlaw, for it couldn't have been anything else, headed towards the abandoned cart, feet so light that the leaves on the ground barely rustled.

The thief climbed the wagon, taking nothing more than a moment to glare at the pass bearing the royal crest hanging on its side. Fingertips tingling with anticipation, the outlaw pulled off the sheet of cloth that covered up the loan and started to rummage through the hay… then produced a low shriek, snatching the hands back. A snarling, startled sound emerged from the darkness beneath the hood as a muffled voice hissed: «Ice?!»

Frustrated and confused, the thief spun and leaned out, still muttering, and reached for the pass.

«It looks official.» the hushed voice whispered as its owner inspected it closely, running a finger over the crest and shaking the head, lost in schemes and possibilities. «But why would the Prince order i–»

«HEY!»

The outlaw jumped and turned the gaze towards the tall, big blond man yelling from the middle of the forest path, not too many feet away… but settled instead on the pouch that very same man had abandoned right there, on the bench of the cart.

Kristoff detected just a split second of hesitation before the thief's hand darted forwards, fingers clenching on the leather of his coin purse. The bounty firmly held in his clutches, the young man – he was probably just a boy, Kristoff guessed, judging from his size – leaped off the cart and ran into the woods.

«Don't! Give it back!» he yelled, springing forward and running after him.

The forest had already taken his horse from him, his thoughts growled as his faced darkened at the memory of Dawn disappearing into the trees, off the trail and out of sight after a mere handful of yards; he wasn't going to lose everything he had to pay for his stay in the city as well.

He clenched his teeth.

The thief was fast and smart, he would have given him that – it was hard to keep track of him as his green and brown clothes merged so well with the green and brown blur of the forest surrounding them. But Kristoff wasn't too slow himself… and he had the ice harvesters' strength and resilience to his advantage.

He managed to keep up with him, to the point that he distinctly saw him stopping at the edge of a river and spinning around. His attention settled on him briefly – green-blue eyes flashing as they took him in – before he turned back towards the river and paused for a moment to choose the best fallen tree to walk across the roaring waters beneath… a moment Kristoff took to close the distance between them.

When the outlaw jumped on the 'bridge' he had settled on, the blond young man was only a few steps behind.

«Stop!» Kristoff yelled, extending his arms in order to keep his balance as he stepped on the bark.

The thief ignored him and kept going, so he, too, took another step. And the tree shook.

The thief – his senses clearly trained and far sharper than Kristoff's – crouched and held on with his hands as well, while the ice harvester was barely able to avoid the fall. He whirled his arms stepping back and causing the tree to shake again.

«Don't!» the outlaw screamed, not turning towards him, his voice turning into a shrill plea. «You're too big. If you move again we're both falling in.»

Kristoff's gaze sharpened, distrust flashing in his honey brown irises. «I don't believe you. You're saying that so I'll just let you run off. You're lying!» ha spat.

He took a tentative step forward, but the unstable trunk moved once more. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Kristoff realized that all that movement was making the tree _roll_ – probably it wasn't rooted in the ground, it only looked like it because its ends where simply covered by moss … and now the damn thing was _rolling_ and _they were still on it_.

«I'm not!» the hooded guy snapped, turning slightly to shoot him a sideways glance. «The tree is unstable!»

The ice harvester glared at the crouched figure who was the source of all his troubles of the day – "_Actually just most of them, you got lost all by yourself…_" the voice in his head reminded him. Ignoring it, he growled: «Then why in the world did you pick it?!»

«Well it's not like I knew it! I didn't have the time to look at it properly because, you know, you were closing in on me!» the thief retorted, his voice still somewhat low but quickly gaining in pitch and volume.

Kristoff's mouth fell open. «Well, sorry, but you stole from me, remember?!»

The hooded figure just scoffed. «At the castle they will pay you back, I'm sure of it. Just say that you were ambushed by thieves in Frost Wood and Prince Hans himself will be fussing all over you, trust me.»

For a moment, Kristoff actually thought of believing him… but then he noticed how that crouched posture was perfect for coiling strength and enough momentum to make a leap. «I want my pouch back.» he hissed and took another step.

The tree moved again, the moss surrounding the bark tensing and snapping.

The outlaw clenched his teeth, the trebling of the wood reverberating through his own body. «Oh, come on! It's just a handful of coins and I need it, just let me go!»

«No way.» the ice harvester said firmly. He was tired of things being stolen from him: everything – _everyone_ – had been stolen from him already and he wasn't likely to let it happen again if he was getting any say into it. «If it's just a handful of coins then give me back the pouch and I'll just turn around, okay?»

«No way.» the outlaw echoed him, his body still coiled and ready to break into a run, hands releasing their hold on the bark.

«You're leaving me no choice then!» Kristoff barked as he took another step.

With a final tremor the tree broke free from the frail moss that had been keeping it in place and, when the outlaw sprang forward, it began to roll. Both the men screamed as they lost their ground and fell.

Hearing the high-pitched shriek that echoed his own yelp – only a very young boy could have produced such a sound – Kristoff felt bad for forcing the poor kid to the unpleasant bath that awaited them…

…but every ounce of empathy and conscience was sucked out from his when the ice cold waters of the river crashed into him, immediately soaking his heavy clothes and pressing against his eyes, ears, nose, mouth. Panic and confusion settled into his mind as he desperately tried to fight back, clawing at the water to free himself from its freezing hold. He had a plan, he knew that – he had known he was going to fall and he had known the boy would have been shocked by the impact with the river, but he hadn't thought he would have been so shocked himself and now he didn't know what to do… he couldn't even remember what the ice harvesters had taught him.

"_Is this how mom and dad felt?_" asked the small, scared, sad voice in his head.

The thought brought tears into his eyes, but water was everywhere already, all around him, looking for a way to get into him as well, to fill his mouth and lungs, ready to choke him to death and to steal every bit of warmth he had left in his body. Kristoff kicked and scratched the liquid, but his mountain man clothes were dragging him down.

Then he felt some kind of pull, a hold on the collar of his shirt that began to drag him down – or was it up? After a moment his head broke the surface, cold air rushing back into his lungs and making his chest hurt almost as much as the water had – but, oh, how good it tasted…

He felt the pull again tugging at the front of his shirt and he realized that someone was dragging him out of the river – that much he could guess because the pressure of the currents against his body was lessening considerably and he could feel his feet dragging on the riverbed. Perceiving ground against his legs once more seemed to make something click in his brain and Kristoff finally moved, his limbs tingling, burdened by the cold. He gained the grassy shore crawling on all fours and with the prickly Norwegian breeze blowing on his face, but it didn't matter: _he hadn't drowned_.

The hand that had helped him reach the safety of the edge seized him again and angrily yanked him upwards. The blond man reacted by getting to his feet, his sight finally adjusting and regaining the light the cold dark waters had threatened to steal from him, finally allowing him to see his savior.

«What the hell is wrong with you?!» the thief screamed at him, giving him a shake, an angry snarl on the pale lips.

All Kristoff could do was stare back, his mouth falling open as he tried to make sense of the fact that the outlaw, the thief, the savior was no boy at all. It was a young _woman_.

The brown hood attached to the cowl sitting on her shoulders had fallen from her head, revealing her soft, feminine features and her lively green-blue eyes, as well as a mane of wild strawberry blonde hair that had probably been tied in an up-do, which had come undone because of the fall and the water. She was wearing knee-high, soft brown boots and black pants topped by a deep green undershirt covered by a leather corset – and all the movement and swimming had clearly messed with the outfit, because he could see just a hint of the bandages hugging her chest to make her curves less obvious peeking from underneath the green shirt.

He blushed.

«Well!?» the girl said, giving him one final shake before letting go of him in frustration to run her fingers through her messy hair.

Kristoff stumbled backwards and tripped, falling on his backside, hands sinking slightly in the soft mud of the mossy bank, still staring.

"_You know, brother, this must be the oddest way to chase after a girl I've ever heard of._" teased the voice in his head, a hint of laughter that he almost echoed himself out of hysteria… hadn't it been for the steel cold point suddenly pressed against his chin. He froze, his eyes flashing right and up.

An arrow was pressing against his skin, held by another girl. She was taller that the redhead who had robbed him, and her shoulders were broader too. She was wearing a similar outfit – boots, pants, undershirt and corset – only she clearly wore no bandages to hide her curves. Her thick golden hair was swept into a messy ponytail, some tuft of hair escaping the up-do and falling into her deep, coal black eyes. She eyed Kristoff quickly, a smirk tugging at her full lips – so full they almost clashed with the sharpness of the rest of her features –, then turned her gaze back on the redhead.

«You okay, Robin?» she asked, her grip on the arrow never faltering.

The thief – but at that point Kristoff felt safe to assume they were _both_ thieves – clicked her tongue angrily. «Okay!? I just fell off a tree and into a river in September, would _you_ be okay?!»

The blonde woman chuckled slightly. Seeing that Kristoff was still staring, unable to move for whatever reason, she lowered the arrow momentarily and extended her other hand to help Robin out of the mud. She rubbed the girl's arm, a concerned expression in the crease of her brow. «We should get you back to the camp, you're gonna freeze out here.»

Robin nodded, shivering from cold and anger – _who was so stupid to make them fall in on purpose?!_ «Let's get back to the idiot's cart, he had some sheets back there. Did you get his horse?»

The blonde one nodded. «Yeah, she's tied to that tree there.»

Kristoff's eyes widened as he followed the nod she gave and saw Dawn. «MY horse?! Wait, you had it planned? You severed the front of her Dutch collar, didn't you!? What are you, crazy!? You could have hurt her!»

The two paid him a quick glance, then resumed ignoring him with ease. He definitely didn't appreciate that, so he began fighting the mud that had covered his hands to get up.

«Good. We'll have to decide what to do with that ice load he got too.» Robin went on, paying him not attention whatsoever.

Blonde nodded. «The men are on it already, they're bringing him back to the camp as we speak. What do you think our dear Prince Hans could be needing it for?»

Robin just shook her head, but before she could say anything Kristoff snorted. Noticing that he was back on his feet, Blonde immediately raised her arrow to his throat. The redhead arched an eyebrow and smirked in his direction. «Got something to say, pretty boy?»

Kristoff raised his hands slowly, aware that quick movements might have resulted in getting that arrow right through his neck. «Well, first of all, ice is a very important commodity. And I happen to know that the Prince is planning a ball and he needs the ice to store the food he'll be serving because, you know, it can't come in all in one day.»

Blonde glanced sideways at her companion, but she kept staring at him, green-blue eyes sharpening, brow creased. «And when is this ball, exactly?»

The ice harvester fought the smirk he felt creeping up his face and crossed his arms, his lips tight.

Robin nodded slightly and Blonde set her arrow back in the quiver hanging from her side, moving towards the riverbank instead to pick up that coin purse that had caused all of these troubles and that was now lying on the riverbank, forsaken entirely.

The thief brought her attention back on him and repeated: «When is the ball?»

However, Kristoff was barely paying attention to her: the sight of the leather pouch triggered some kind of reflex in his mind and he instinctively raised a hand to his chest, seeking something that should have been hanging from his neck… but wasn't.

Panicking he tore his gaze from the redhead to inspect the surroundings, fingers clenching nothingness, looking for the fair gleam of silver. He was so anxious he didn't even hear that Robin girl saying something that sounded like 'have it your way'.

He didn't comprehend what was going on until it was too late, when he saw Blonde raising a thick stick she must have found somewhere on the ground and then swinging it in his direction. Pain rushed through his body as the wood connected with his temple and darkness settled into his eyes. The last thing he felt before losing consciousness were his knees hitting the ground.

The redhead tilted her head to the side as she watched him fall on the moss and turned to her companion. «Why did you hit him on the temple? That's gonna leave a more visible bruise and he'll be whining enough already.»

Raelyn simply shrugged, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. «I didn't do it on purpose, Anna. I was aiming for his scalp, it's not my fault if he turned.» she sighed and then tossed the stick aside. «Come on, help me put Blondie up on the horse so we can bring him back to the camp with us. We'll question him more once you'll be changed in warmer clothes.»

Anna nodded.

The two girls picked the young man up and, after quite some struggling and pulling and pushing and lifting, they were able to get the ice harvester on his horse's back.

Then, taking advantage of the forest's stillness, silence and – most importantly – lack of prying eyes, Raelyn removed her corset momentarily to give her dry undershirt to her friend, who accepted it with a warm smile and went to work on her own clothes. While Anna changed the blonde girl tied her corset back in place, then proceeded to help her friend with hers.

«Better?» she asked, pulling at the strings to get the leather to hug the girl's curves tightly.

The redhead sighed in relief. «Much better. Wet pants I can manage, but the shirt was killing me. And I admit I don't really have a thing for ice cold water.»

Raelyn nodded, remembering how she had found the girl in the river – same river, actually, but different spot – three years before.

_Cold and pale, her lips blue, her hair and dress soaking wet, a twisted ankle and a badly injured arm, covered in cuts and scrapes, her lower lip broken and bleeding._

«We didn't even ask for his name.» she said changing the subject, knowing that Anna was probably relieving the very same scene she had just summoned before her eyes. «What should we do with him?»

Anna sighed, then shook her head as she placed herself in front of the horse, untying the reins from the tree. «I'm not sure. We can find out about the ball on our own, so we could just leave him on the road and leave, but…»

«…he's seen us.» Raelyn finished for her. «And should he spill that Robin Hood is a girl all the rumors we managed to spread to keep the camp and _you_ safe would be swept away in a matter of seconds.» she walked up to her side, a dark look in her darker eyes.

The redhead nodded as she began to walk through the forest, knowing exactly where she was headed. «Precisely. Though I don't like forcing him to, he's just gonna have to stay with us.» she patted his arm absentmindedly, then turned back to her friend with a hesitant but hopeful smile on her face. «But he looks like a nice guy, doesn't he?»

The blonde thief threw her head back, laughed briefly and smiled brightly in return in her direction, reaching out with a hand to mess her already messy, wet hair, getting her to laugh as well. «You're always going to see the best in people no matter what they do to you, aren't you?»

She nodded with certainty and enthusiasm. «Everyone always asks for a second chance and I give them one. Simple as that. …well, except for Hans maybe. Which reminds me!» she chirped excitedly. «We should give this guy a nickname! You know, to make sure he's safe. How about…» she lost herself in thought, white teeth biting softly on the now-not-so-blue lower lip; then her expression brightened, eyes sparkling with enlightenment. «Oh! I know! How about Little John?!»

Raelyn raised an eyebrow at her, her eyes flying to the passed out man who was everything but little. She simply shook her head, amused. «You have the oddest sense of humor, you know?» she teased affectionately, wishing in her mind that there were more people like that in the world. «Little John it is. Now, ready to join the masquerade again, 'Robin Hood'?»

«Sure I am, 'Scarlet'.»

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello, _dearies_!  
Told you the next chapter was going to be longer ;)  
Actually I have to admit I'm not entirely satisfied by this because I would have liked to go more in depth with things, but I would have probably given too much away and ruined future chapters. If anyone has any tips to improve, please feel free to constructively criticize!  
Aaaanyway, I think that's it for now. Next chapter we'll travel back in time, to see how Elsa reacted to Anna's flight – and what caused Anna's flight in the first place!  
Hope you enjoyed the read =) Don't forget to come and say hi at *dreamswandererDOTtumblrDOTcom*, should you feel so inclined, and maybe consider leaving a little comment, they always manage to keep me happy!  
'Till next chapter...

_Clarisse_


	3. Knives through her Heart

**chapter two**  
**KNIVES THROUGH HER HEART**

* * *

_[Arendelle – January 1521]_

Elsa stepped in carefully, opening the door just enough to sneak in and then spinning around to close it immediately, a hand that gathered her pristine white skirts while the other she had placed on the handle, trying to avoid making even the slightest noise.

Once the door was shut she listened in, uncertain and scared… but nothing happened – no commotion, no guards shouting, no angry steps approaching. She sighed in relief and turned, her deep blue eyes taking the room in.

It was a study. It wasn't too big, but the grand oaken desk placed on top of the dais that dominated the three padded chairs that stood in front of it gave it a more formal, almost solemn appearance. The large glass windows that took up the whole wall behind the desk and half of the one on its left also helped to disrupt the cozy atmosphere suggested by the small sofa and chess table that stood next to the fireplace. Two massive, oaken bookcases encased the door and took up the rest of the walls, which were covered in a cerulean brocade – bright enough, and definitely more soothing than the aggressive, powerful crimson that covered the ball room downstairs. There were also some small tapestries on the walls, all portraying blue, green, purple and golden crocuses – Arendelle's crest – in a pattern that was also echoed by the fabrics that covered chairs and sofa.

A loud crack made her jump and her pale, soft and delicate hand flew over her heart. She anxiously scanned the room, her muscles tensing, her body coiling, ready to bolt. Another crack, but this time Elsa caught sight of the sparks erupting from the shifting logs in the fireplace.

«This is absurd.» she growled under her breath, fingers brushing the oakwood of the bookcases. «I'm afraid of being caught into my own study.»

Only it wasn't exactly _her_ study – not really, not yet. It had been her father's, Lord Agdar, before he had left to go set up the fight for that in that looming war Sweden was getting ready to start as a rebellion against the Kalmar Union and its King, Christian II of Denmark. He had left her the key so that she could have taken care of things during his absence… but, truth be told, she had simply taken the key and had handed it over to Kai, her father's councillor – her family trusted him with their lives, so he could definitely take care of the Duchy of Arendelle during her father's absence.

Because Elsa had never wanted to be the family's heiress. She had never wanted to rule, not even over the small – but alas, important – trade center that Arendelle was. She had always wished – and, sometimes, still wished – that her parents had had a son too, so she wouldn't have had to worry about ruling entirely… but no, she had to be cursed with being the firstborn. And, since she wouldn't have wished such a curse – growing up the way she had to – onto Anna, she had also made her parents train her and her alone for the task. Because Anna didn't deserve that kind of life, that kind of stress. Anna deserved to be happy. So she had just had to accept being the heiress to the Duchy, recognizing it as her cross to bear, in spite of feeling utterly unsuited for such responsibilities.

Which was the reason why she had been willing to accept Hans' help as soon as he had offered it; which was the reason why her father's study had become Hans' reign now; which was, in turn, the reason why she was sneaking in in the first place!

Brought back to the matter at hand, her thoughts refocusing, Elsa closed the distance between herself and the desk, going around it and sitting on the important-looking chair to match it.

She let her gaze wander the room for a moment, noticing how that position, coupled with the little extra height provided by the dais, was perfect to dominate the whole room, and how the light coming from the windows behind the desk could also guarantee some sort of intimidating halo to its occupant – merely a statement of superiority, though, because the velvet curtains could be drawn so that the Sun wouldn't be into the guest's eyes, while the window on the left would still provide plenty of light.

Elsa shook her head, her eyes returning on the desk. "_Focus!_" she scolded herself. – only because she had time since Hans was out hunting with some neighboring counts didn't mean she should have wasted any. "_Now, where would Hans keep the records…?_"

She found them – the records of the proclamations issued from 1520 onward – in the upper-left drawer. She began skimming them, eager to understand.

_**"**__ANNOUNCING OUR BELOVED LORD AGDAR'S AND LADY IDUN'S DEATH__**"**_

Elsa's breath caught unpleasantly in her throat.

It was dated 13th of March of 1520 – roughly four months before Anna's fifteenth birthday, nine before her eighteenth. She still remembered the delivery of the news with perfect clarity.

* * *

_«I am sorry, Your Grace.» the messenger says – no, not a messenger, one of her father's soldiers –, one knee down on the pavement, head bowed. «Everything was too sudden. One moment we were finishing to make the preparations to meet with our delegation of knights returning from the Swedish Baron's hearing and one moment later there were enemy swords and spears at our throats. When the Lord and his knights came in we had a brief respite and gained strength from our greater number, but our soldiers were tired from the journey. We were able to hold our ground and reach the camp, but at a great cost. Many of us fell. Including…» the soldier looks up, the grief in his eyes matching the torment in Elsa's own eyes. «…including our Lord and Lady, Your Grace.»_

_«NO!»_

_Anna's scream hurts like a physical blow, her voice high and sharp like nails on a chalkboard._

_«It's not true!» she screeches, fists clenched at her sides, tears filling her eyes already – because she knows it's true._

_The soldier's head sinks a bit lower, his shoulders slumping under Elsa's glassy eyes who can do nothing but stare._

_«If it can be of any consolation, Your Grace should know that Lady Idun fought like a lioness to protect the healers under her command and that without Lord Agard none of us – I – would not have survived.» he manages to utter, determined to finish his sentence in spite of Anna's tortured wails._

_«My parents…» the redhead sobs, her features scrunched, her eyes cracking open. «My parents are gone.» she admits in a pained growl. «How could knowing how they died comfort me?!»_

_The soldier nods solemnly as he turns towards her. «I understand and share your pain… it is a great loss for us all. However I think that the courage they showed du–»_

_«Do NOT tell me how brave they've been!» Anna yells as she lunges forward – a reaction Elsa expects, but still she can't do nothing to prevent, not as shocked as she is._

_Luckily for the soldier, one of the palace guards manages to step in and catch Anna._

_«My lady!» he calls, trying to get the attention of the squirming girl he holds tightly in his arms. «My lady, it's not this man's fault! He is but a messenger!»_

_«I don't care! They shouldn't have been brave, they should have gotten back home – better still, they never should have left!» she cries, tears rolling down her cheeks – but she does stop fighting him._

_She turns, her desperate green-blue eyes locking with her sister's ice-blue ones._

_Elsa returns her sister's gaze – still silent, still motionless. Shock, pain and fear prey on her mind, holding her in place, preventing to do anything but stare._

_"_My parents fell in Sweden._" she thinks as despair explodes within her chest, even if her face is as cold and as unfeeling as a statue's._

Conceal_._

_"_Mama and Papa are gone._" she tells herself, hearing her very voice screaming out with grief in the back of her mind, though no sounds are coming out of her lips._

Don't let them see_._

_"_Mama and Papa… no… now… I'm… alone, now._" she realizes, the numbness she has been feeling giving way to panic; suddenly her heart begins to flutter fast, terrified, as a sense of suffocation takes over her lungs. "_I'm all alone, now. But… no… why…_"_

_She desperately wants to bolt, to run outside to get some fresh air and chase away the horror that's chocking her – even though she's not really chocking: she's breathing just fine, in spite of the lump she feels in her throat as she sits on the solemn armchair on top of the ballroom's dais._

Don't let it show_._

_«Elsa! Elsa, do something!»_

Anna_._

_Anna's voice starts out as a distant echo, but it quickly grows higher, stronger, closer._

_Elsa hangs onto that voice – the only thing anchoring her there and then, the only thing she can hold on to with all that panic raging around her, within her._

Anna_…_

_…maybe, just maybe, she's not so alone after all. She still won't be able to stay by her side as she wants to – too many responsibilities are about to crash on her narrow, fragile shoulders now that she's Duchess of Arendelle… but she's not so alone._

…Anna_._

_Elsa's mind finally starts working again, her eyes snapping back into focus. She blinks twice as she realizes that the redhead is staring at her, the anger in her eyes fading into understanding as she catches the glimpse of a shimmer in her sister's not-so-unfeeling-anymore eyes._

_Elsa swallows discreetly, clenching and releasing her fingers, finally feeling her body responding again. She stands up, her knees shaking – but she straightens them, tensing every muscle in her legs and knowing that the folds of her snowy gown will do the rest._

Conceal_._

_«Please forgive my sister, sir Baerd.» she states, steeling her voice. «The news you bore is cause of excruciating pain for us.»_

_«I understand, Your Grace.» the soldier nods, his eyes shifting on her again._

_Elsa tenses under his gaze, but forces her shoulders look unaffected._

Don't let them see_._

_«You must be very tired.» she acknowledges, commanding her features to soften up. «You are welcome to stay here in the castle and rest. Gerda–» she calls, summoning a tall, thin gray-haired woman who appears almost immediately. «–will show you to one of our guest rooms. I trust you will stay with us until the funeral?»_

_Anna sobs at the words her sister forces her to say and Elsa feels something inside her resonate with that tortured sound._

Don't let it show_._

_The soldier rises on his feet. «Yes. Thank you, Your Grace. It's very kind of you.»_

_She flashes him a polite smile, then dismisses him with an elegant nod of her platinum blond head. As soon as he disappears Elsa steps down the dais and goes to stand by her sister, extending a hand and placing it on her shoulder._

_Anna motions in for a hug, but a gentle squeeze of her sister's polished fingers stops her._

_"_Not now, Anna. Not in front of everyone's eyes._"_

_Conceal, don't let them see, don't let it show._

* * *

Elsa felt the back of the chair collide with her spine as she crashed into it, the memories flooding her mind, taking over. She squeezed her eyes shut, a hand pressing on her mouth while she struggled for control in order to avoid crumpling the paper she was still holding – she couldn't, Hans would have noticed…

She inhaled sharply, fighting back the pain, focusing on her breathing – _in and hold and out, in and hold and out_ – until she didn't feel in control again. She exhaled slowly, forcing her muscles to relax, then set the paper down and resumed leafing through the rest of the stack.

She refused to linger on the announcement of the funeral, forcing herself not to read through it and to set it back down on the desk instead, face down and safely away from her own treacherous eyes.

She steeled herself, the tension in her shoulders never easing even though she kept making an effort to focus on her breathing, her gaze skimming titles and dates of the documents passing through her hands.

She stopped when her fingers grasped a thicker, colored sheet of paper. Her eyes flew to the title, unhappily taking in the pompous, bright red letters that announced the ball that had been held on the 12th of May of 1520 – just two months, more or less, after her parents' funeral – in honor of Prince Hans of Denmark.

* * *

_«Why do we have to throw a ball?» Elsa asks, two cold fingers resting on one of her temples in an attempt to soothe her pounding headache._

_Kai, her father's – no, her – advisor, notices the gesture but says nothing while he simply stands in front of the desk that dominates the Duchess' study. «It would be a bad idea not to, my Lady.» he explains, his eyes never leaving the woman's stoic expression. «He is royalty and he has come all the way here in order to honor our deceased Lord and Lady, since they were quite well known among the Kalmar officers. If Arendelle does nothing to show that we recognize the Prince's arrival–»_

_«–it could be read as disrespectful, if not worse.» Elsa finishes for him, knowing very well that the appearances could be crucial when dealing with the nobility, whether allied or hostile – and that she knew all to well, since she had been raised along that very goal: looking perfect._

Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show. Be flawless, be perfect. Good girl.

_She shakes her head imperceptibly, resisting the urge to rub her eyes – Kai's still watching. She fights back a sigh and reaches for the glass of water sitting not too far away from her pale hand and she takes a sip – not because she's thirsty, but she needs an excuse to swallow the painful lump in her throat._

_Kai waits patiently for her to feel comfortable again. He knows that Elsa – he can't call her 'your Grace' or 'my Lady', not within the privacy of his own mind: he's seen her grow up, become the 'Swan of Arendelle', a title that he knows weighing a lot more than an armful of feathers – is hurting, he knows she's tired. He'd love to show her that she doesn't have to keep up the act in front of him, or Gerda, or most of the castle staff… but telling her so would also mean stating that many see her hurt in spite of how hard she struggles to conceal, not to let them see, not to let it show. And he knows that would stress her out beyond belief._

_So he says nothing, so he stays quiet… but he keeps his eyes sharp and his ears attentive, ready to jump at any chance to make things easier for her._

_«You are right.» Elsa says after a sip of heavenly cold water, finally trusting herself to speak again. «The ball in Prince Hans' honor must be thrown. Do you think any we could organize everything in a handful of days?»_

_«Leave it to me, my Lady.» Kai volunteers immediately, shoulders squared and head held high – a stance that immediately reassures the young Duchess. «I can have the food brought in in a few days and I'm sure that Gerda and the maids will be able to decorate the halls and the ballroom in the same amount of time. Especially if Lady Anna will be allowed to help?»_

_Elsa's first reaction is to say no – no, because Anna is a lady, because Anna has to be careful, no because appearance and reputation – but then she remembers that Anna is a Lady but not a Duchess, that she's Anna of Arendelle but not the Swan of Arendelle._

_"_Anna's not cursed._" she sighs inwardly eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "_I am. Anna deserves to be _free_._"_

_When her ice-blue irises find Kai again she smiles. «Of course Anna can help. She's been in a lot of pain ever since the funeral, as we all have. I believe a distraction will be good for her.»_

_And it truly is. Over the next few days Elsa sees her sister excited again, smiling again, running around the castle with the arms full or ribbons and flowers, darting from room to room to open every window and let May's warm breezes in, insisting to go into town herself to visit the market and gather everything she needs personally._

_Yes, happy Anna is a sight to behold and Elsa basks into it, allowing her sister's inner Sun to thaw the icy, vicious grip terror holds around her fearful heart. Because Elsa isn't really looking forward to that day, not at all – too many people staring, too many people judging… the thought is enough to give her nightmares, to the point that she has to take a mixture of herbs to be able to sleep, even if they tend to leave her a bit numb the next day._

_On the morning of the dreaded event, Elsa is awoken by a soft knocking on the door as a distant voice asking "May I come in, your Grace?" slowly grows in her sleepy head from whisper to siren as she realizes with a jolt that she's not presentable, that she can't be seen now…_

_«Do not come in, Gerda!» she orders, fighting to keep the distress out of her voice. «I will call you when I need you.»_

_But the door creaks open, much to Elsa's dismay… which is, however, replaced by a wave of relief when she notices the strawberry blond braid that swings into the room._

_«Anna.» she sighs as her sister enters, a wide grin on her freckled face. «How many times have I asked you to tell me it is you before coming in?»_

_Anna happily dances right in, her feet barely brushing the soft, snowy carpet – but, even as blissful as she is, she does remember to close the door behind her: she knows very well just how badly and coldly her sister can react to things when she's not behind closed doors._

_«I did, though.» she answers, spinning around excitedly at the thought of the ball that awaits her in a handful of hours. «Three times! But you didn't answer, you know, so I got worried and I peeked in… so it's your fault, really!»_

_Elsa just groans as she falls back on the mattress, an arm thrown over her eyes. «That's because I was _sleeping_, Anna…»_

_The redhead gasps dramatically, a hand flying over her freckled cheek. «Sleeping? Today?! No way!» she chants, but when her sister simply rolls over she throws herself on the bed, drawing a surprised 'oomph' from the blond Duchess. «Elsa!» she calls her, crawling through covers and pillows until her fingers find the other's shoulder and shake her slightly. «Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!»_

_«Annaaa…» the blond one moans, but her cruel sister bounces on the mattress._

_«No, no 'Annaaa'!» she mocks her, tickling her sides lightly to coax her out of bed. «Come on! We have to get ready for the ball and everything, come on!»_

_Elsa rolls on one side, an ice-blue eyes cracking open, a smile hidden in the depths of her gaze. «If I get up, will you stop tickling me?»_

_«Yes!» the young lady exclaims, ready to bolt already._

_The blond woman chuckles as she props herself up on her elbows. «Will you please open the curtains while I get up?»_

_Anna simply squeals as she scrambles off the bed and tumbles on the ground, a hand extending to claw and pull at one of the thick, dark blue velvet drapes blocking out the morning Sun. The fabric swings back as she yanks it aside and rays of light flood the room, setting everything on candid fire._

_Elsa's laughter fades as a blissful smile spreads across her face – scrunched at first because of the sudden change in the illumination, but already relaxing as her eyes adjust – while she enjoys the sunlight on her skin, reveling in its warm caress. Then her expression sobers slightly, her shoulders tense a bit as she – even before getting out of bed – starts getting ready to play her part for the day._

_Anna's face falls as she notices it. She almost wishes she could draw the curtains shut and go back on the bed to tease her sister, but she knows it's too late: the Swan of Arendelle has already taken over and Elsa is lost again._

* * *

A suddenly close sound of voices and steps ripped Elsa from her remembrances. She instinctively ducked, the paper slipping through her fingers and slowly falling on the floor, twirling slightly. It landed on the pavement, not too far away from the desk under which Elsa had crouched.

Knees hugged to her chest, the young Duchess listened in for the sounds that had made her react. They were still out there, she realized, and the faint but constant tinkling of metal told her that they were probably a pair of guards patrolling the hallways – Hans had tightened the security ever since Anna…

Elsa sighed and hung her head; a couple of unruly blond locks tickled her cheeks, but she quickly brushed them back with a casual gesture – a gesture she didn't even realized performing, as dictated from habit as it was.

The voices were slowly moving away, but the blue-eyed girl didn't stir: she knew they were going to turn around upon reaching the end of the end of the hallway, which happened to be just around the corner, so they were bound to pass the study again in a little bit. Of course, they probably weren't going to check in the office, and even if they did it wasn't like she wasn't allowed in… but she really didn't want Hans to hear anything about her presence in there. So she resolved to stay hidden and she rested her chin on her knees.

Still, in spite of all her self-reassurances, her heart was beating fast… as fast as it had been beating on that ball night.

Truth be told, everything had gone quite well. All of the guests – countesses, marquises, baronesses and knights and all of their entourages of lords and ladies – had been graciously received for the late lunch buffet, had enjoyed the afternoon of casual chats and business-oriented talks as a group of street performers made sure all of the guests were entertained, had loved the decorations in the ballroom and the food laid out in the ballroom and the music played in the ballroom. Everyone – except for her of course, she was already too busy keeping her features relaxed and her voice steady – had been dancing… including Anna.

That had been a balm to Elsa's troubled mind: seeing Anna happy made everything she endured every day worth enduring. Anna's smiles were worth every suppressed tear, Anna's laughters were worth every sleepless night and every bite taken at those herbs, Anna's ecstatic twirls were worth every long, dreaded talk with merchants and noblemen. Of course everything was still excruciating to bear, but seeing her sister like _that_ had always had the power to comfort her – it meant that all the pain and fear she withstood alone on a daily basis were getting something good accomplished: they were keeping Anna free.

And Prince Hans had been an extremely pleasant guest: he had greeted the nobility by her side and he had thanked her for the 'wonderful ball', something that had made Elsa feel relieved beyond belief – she had done it, she had been the perfect Duchess and hostess even in the Prince's eyes, _she had been a good girl_. And he had danced with Anna and he had chatted with her, keeping her smiling and laughing, cheeks ablaze and eyes alight – and that had meant the world to Elsa, because she wasn't blind and she knew how much her poised, cold façade was hurting her little sister. Which was also why she hadn't objected when Hans had asked her if he could have been their guest for a bit longer, even if it had made her wonder: why would the Prince of Denmark – the 'Disgraced Prince', as the people had nicknamed him – want to stay in Arendelle? What kind of business did he have there and didn't he have any obligations to fulfill, even if he wasn't first in line to the throne? But she had been struggling so much already and it had been so good to see Anna happy and he had been so kind when he had offered her to help with some paperwork and other similar tasks… so she had simply decided not to look into it.

Hearing the voices passing by for the second time, Elsa felt safe enough to get back on her feet. She carefully inspected her white gown to make sure there were no gray patches caused by dust or dirt – there weren't any since the study was kept spotless, but she patted and shook her skirts anyway. Then she picked up the fallen ball notice, placed it back on the stack of papers she had already inspected, and resumed leafing through the rest of the other pile.

The next document that caught her eye was a notice of an increase in taxes. It bore her signature, but Elsa was sure she hadn't been the one to draft it – not only because she had no memory of it but also because there as no mention of the reason why taxes were being raised, which was one of her family's traditions… or quirks as some noblemen liked to define them. Arendelle's dukes and duchesses believed into transparency when it came to ruling, so there was always some sort of indication to what motivated their decisions; they weren't always detailed or thoroughly true since some particulars were for the eyes of those in charge alone, but they never contained straight-out lies either. And Elsa had always been careful to respect that tradition, partly because she had been trained to and partly because she too, like those before her, believed that being as honest as possible and keeping the promises was the easiest way to gain the people's loyalty and respect, even if it wasn't such a popular position among the aristocracy. So that document clearly wasn't her doing… but then, whose?

A name – a name ringing among her thoughts in a voice she knew and loved and missed very much – came to mind, but she quickly chased it away, too scared even to consider it. She shook her head and tried to reason.

_Who?_

Kai would have never dared to betray her family in such a way, and of that she was sure. Partly because if those had been his intentions, he had had countless chances to pull off such a trick and yet nothing like that had ever happened, and partly because he had no reason to attempt such a scheme. Well, he definitely couldn't have done it for the money because he didn't have access to the treasury, which was heavily guarded… plus, the treasurer would have never let anyone else handle the money without a permission from the current duke or duchess – and that she was sure she hadn't signed. Unless the treasurer and all the guards were corrupted as well, of course, which seemed highly unlikely… _but oh, God, what if they were?_

Elsa's forehead fell into her own palm, the coldness of her fingers soothing the migraine that had just started to stir in her skull. She closed her eyes and fought to focus on her breathing, concentrating on her own body to convince her muscles to relax and her nausea to calm.

"_No_." she decided. "_It can't have been done for the money. Too many people involved, something would have end up being overheard or noticed somehow…_"

But then, why? Maybe to make her look like an unworthy Duchess, a bad ruler. But how could have Kai been the one behind it? Again, there was nothing he could have gained from it – it wasn't like he could have ever become Duke himself because he wasn't family, and he wasn't looking for an easier ruler to manipulate either because, had that been his intention, he could have manipulated her just fine since _she trusted him_.

The paper still held in her hands, Elsa sat back against the chair.

It couldn't have been Kai, she resolved: he had no reason to do such a thing and he had every reason _not_ to, because there was no way he could have gotten away with it. It would have been an extremely stupid thing to do, and he definitely wasn't stupid.

She was still going to try to talk to him – because, as her father always used to say, when it came to power there was no one, _no one_ who could be fully trusted and it was fundamental to think with one's own head – but she didn't believe it was him.

But then, who? Who had access to the documents and enough knowledge to set up such a scheme, whatever their goal was? Who was it the one who believed she wasn't _enough_?

She bit her lower lip, pearl white teeth sinking into her pink, soft, slightly cracked flesh – Gerda was right, she really should have been trying to drink more – as she set the paper down to resume going through the documents, looking for more anomalies. As she passed two more tax increases she had known nothing of, her worry coiled into a physically painful lump in her throat while a sense of suffocation began to take over her lungs and her heart rate picked up.

"_Not now._" she begged among her thoughts. "_Please, I can't take this right now…_" but she felt her fingers beginning to clench around the document she had just turned to read, her knuckles whitening. "_Please, I–_"

And then all of her pain disappeared, forgotten entirely – well, it was still there, only she couldn't feel it anymore… not while another stronger, emotional pain was taking over all of her senses.

Through the haze caused by the tears that had gathered in her eyes, her pupils had found a name to focus on, spelled in rich royal blue ink.

Anna.

Trembling fingers rose and fell, the thick rough parchment tickling their tips, and began to trace the faint, almost imperceptible curves that made up the letters, tripping slightly whenever they came across a deeper ditch – where the writer's hand had scribbled harsher, scratching the surface of the paper. Elsa registered nothing of whatever else was written – not the pompous title encasing her name, not the prize money offered to whoever had any reliable information on her whereabouts, not her very own swirling signature scribbled somewhat shakily in the down-right corner.

Anna.

Anna, Anna, _Anna_.

That was a document she remembered signing, as vividly as she remembered everything that had brought her to do so.

* * *

_A sudden gust of wind crawls under Elsa's navy blue cloak and it causes it to flap and snap, yanking apart the folds of the thick, waxed fabric and opening a slit into the front, showing a glimpse of the pure white dress she's wearing._

_She catches the flaps quickly, slightly annoyed, one of her hands reluctantly releasing the skirts she's gathered in her fists so that the hems wouldn't brush the slick, dusty, dirty stones of the parapets. She sighs as she stops, her fingers fumbling with the ribbons as she tries to tie them closer together with one hand alone in order to avoid getting her dress stained – the Swan of Arendelle's gown has to stay immaculate, spotless and flawless._

_Why in the world, she wonders, has Anna asked her to meet on the parapets when they have a whole castle to themselves? Elsa doesn't know, but she knows that her sister is up to something, which is the very reason why she has accepted her request and climbed the castle walls._

_She finally spots her next to a watchtower, not too far from a torch, her strawberry blond braids swinging in the gusts of wind – and that's the only detail she can make out clearly: the firelight pools on the stones, darkening the shadows among which her sister has taken refuge. Sensing that such a choice can't be a coincidence – generally Anna can be found as close as possible to flames, ignoring the risk of getting burned entirely – Elsa decides not to call her name and she simply takes her place by her side, joining her among the darkness that engulfs her right away, hiding them both from sight._

_The two sisters stand there quietly for a handful of moments, one trying to gather her thought as the other one waits for her to find the words. The air grows dense between them as the silence thickens uncomfortably._

_Anna takes a risk and casts a sideway glance in her sister's direction… and her eyes widen a little when they meet Elsa's ice-blue irises staring right back. A soft, embarrassed giggle escapes her lips, shattering the stillness that has spread around them and breaking the ice as the blond lady smiles in return._

_«You seemed on edge when you asked me to come up here to talk.» Elsa says, not wanting to waste the breach they had inadvertently achieved._

_Anna feels something within her warm a bit at that admission that gives away just how perceptive Elsa is and how much she does care for her – or she wouldn't have noticed her distress, would she? Then maybe things won't go as bad as she fears…_

_«Well, I have something to tell you.» the redhead nods, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. «I'm just trying to find the best way to actually tell you.»_

_Elsa's eyes close briefly as she suppresses a tender laughter: Anna's never been able to master the fine art of tact – but, truth be told, she doesn't mind: after hours and hours spent reading between the lines it's nice to hear something she doesn't have to break down and decode…_

_«Hans is using us.»_

_…but it does manage to shock her from time to time. And this one's definitely one of those times._

_Elsa's breath catches as she stares at her sister, an incredulous look on her face._

_Anna doesn't look down nor away, not wanting to lose eye contact – because her sister has to see she's telling the truth. "_Disbelief is okay,_" she reassures herself as she waits for whatever reaction will follow the shock. "_Disbelief I can handle._"_

_It takes Elsa several seconds to blink, even more for her breathing to come in and out regularly again._

_«Wa– what?» she wheezes, her voice nothing more than a trembling whisper._

No. Nonononono this isn't happening…

_«I know.» Anna nods, sympathizing, hands extending and reaching for her sister's. «I didn't want to believe it either, but I'm sure that …»_

_Elsa snatches her hands away, fingers turning cold and eyes losing focus as panic sets in, tightening its icy grip around her fluttering heart – and it's tight, so tight that it hurts, so tight she can't breathe…_

…it can't be real it's too much I'm not ready it can't be real please…

_Anna's still talking, blabbering about overheard conversations and complaints about raised taxes, her hands talking with her and drawing scenes in the darkness, but Elsa's not listening._

_If she's right – _God, if she's right_ – it means she'll have to admit she was wrong to trust him, she'll have to take responsibility, she'll have to go against the Prince himself in front of everyone._

…please don't let it be true I don't want it to be true…

_«I don't understand.» she coughs out, fear choking her as she turns her widened, pleading eyes to her sister. «Why?»_

_Anna's monologue dies out as she stares back, a hand tucking an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. «Oh, um, well, I'm not exactly sure of why he's doing it…» she stammers out, earning a weird look from her sister – is it exasperated or terrified, she can't really tell. «…but I know he's up to something, and it's something fishy, trust me, I just know it, I can feel i–»_

_«Anna.» the blond Duchess stops her, a hand raised, her fingers trembling slightly – just like her voice. «These are serious accusations. Do you have any proof of what you're saying?»_

_The young lady looks at her oddly, somewhat dumbfounded. «N-not really… well, there's that conversation I've overheard… but it's evident that he's up to something! I mean, it just makes sense, you know, and – but, wait, haven't you been list–»_

_«Anna, I can't go against the Prince of Denmark himself just because you 'think he's up to something'.» Elsa states, fighting so hard to steel her voice she doesn't realize how harsh she's sounding._

_A hurt expression flashes across her sister's features, but she stubbornly shakes it off – she stubbornly tries again. «But, I mean, I never said we have to attack him, maybe we could try to find some evidence first and then confront him an–»_

_«Anna, enough.» the blond lady snaps, her heart skipping a beat at the word 'confront'. She raises a hand, her fingers pressing on her forehead as if they could diffuse the confusion that's arising among her thoughts. She shakes her head slightly. «Are you sure you heard the Prince talking about some kind of plot or scheme? Are you sure you haven't misinterpreted something…?»_

_«I know what I heard!» Anna hisses, her temper flaring. «You simply don't believe believe me, do you?! Just admit it! You think I just made everything up, like, because I'm bored or something!»_

_«Wha–no, that's not–!» Elsa begins to blurt out, but then catches herself – she shouldn't look so distressed, so scared…_

Don't let it show.

_She sighs deeply and runs her fingers through her hair, doing the wind's work and pushing it back, out of her face. «What I'm saying, Anna, is that we should consider every alternative before we start investigating on a plot that might not even exi–»_

_«Don't you give me that crap!» the redhead interrupts, disappointment and frustration shining in her eyes. «I know what you're doing, you're just trying to buy yourself some time because this is big and serious and it has implications and there will be consequences – I'm scared too, you know, but that's fine because I know we can work this out together!»_

_Elsa shakes her head, her eyes open but unseeing, out of focus. «No, we can't, I–»_

I can't…

_But Anna ignores her and goes on talking, explaining what they can do and how they can cope with things and who they can tell and who they can trust and who they should keep their eyes on and how they should come up with a secret code to talk about things…_

…I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't…

_Only Elsa isn't listening. No, Elsa is too caught up into her own battle, fighting to keep her panic in check – but failing to do so: confusion, fear and frustration rage in her mind like a storm, so loud they drown out every other noise._

…I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't…

_She brings her hands to her temples – a gesture her sister misses entirely – as she tries to calm down, to think… but _she just can't_ – everything's too quick – _she just can't_ – and too loud – _she just can't_ – and Anna's constant chattering is just making everything worse and she just–_

_«I CAN'T!» Elsa shrieks, a high-pitched, terrified sound tearing itself free from her throat as the burning truth she's tried so hard to suppress finally explodes from her skin._

She can't. She never could.

_Her breath heavy, coming in ragged gasps, Elsa closes her eyes, replacing the chaos of blurred flickering shapes with the blissful oblivion of darkness. She inhales deeply and then exhales, the knot in her chest easing slightly after her outburst._

_«I see.»_

_Her eyes snap open, sight finally sharp again, and they settle on Anna. Her face looks softer now with that bittersweet smile on her lips, and there's something definite in the glint of her eyes – she's made a decision, she can sense it._

_«Anna?» she calls softly, a bad feeling twisting in her stomach, and she wraps her arms around her chest as a reaction. «What is it?»_

_Her sister simply smiles a little wider and she reaches out with a hand, placing a featherlight touch on the blond's shoulder – a comforting, reassuring touch. «I'll be back for you.»_

_Elsa tries to cover her sister's hand with her own, but it's gone before she has the chance to. «Wait, what? Anna?»_

_But Anna doesn't listen. She quickly turns her back on her – not wanting her to see the tears in her eyes – and then she places her hand on the walls of the parapets… and just like that one quick, smooth movement later, she's gone._

_«Anna!» Elsa screams when she sees her jump and she rushes to the edge, her heart suddenly in her throat. She catches a glimpse of her sister's flying braids as she runs down the stone staircase below the watchtower – that's why she wanted to meed up there, she realizes: she was planning to flee all along. «ANNA!»_

_Her desperate call rings like a bell, tolling on every stone and shadow, resonating loudly through the air. Elsa herself is shocked by the volume of her cry and she clamps a hand on her mouth, even though she knows it's too late._

* * *

Elsa sighed, shame burning hot on her cheeks, in her eyes. She hadn't meant to alert the guards, she hadn't meant to spoil her sister's escape plan – she had simply reacted out of instinct, out of fear…

…yet she had made a mess indeed. The guards, summoned by her screams, had swarmed around her in a matter of minutes – or maybe they had been seconds, or hours… it could have been anything, her sense of time for that night wasn't very reliable. Her memories blurred from that point on. She vaguely remembered the soldiers shouting and pushing as they escorted her away from the parapets and into the corridors, only to finally shove her into his arms.

"_Hans_", she thought, his name ringing in her mind in Anna's accusing voice again.

He had asked her what had happened, but she hadn't been able to tell him – she could only babble and stammer, shock overriding her ability to speak, her sister's name the only intelligible word in her ramblings. And then he had asked something odd: he had asked her if Anna had been abducted.

She had stared at him blankly, questions and doubts – _why would he suspect and suggest such a thing?_ – raging in her mind… and then, for a reason that escaped Elsa herself, she had nodded.

Looking relieved, Hans had explained to the guards what he had gotten from her and had barked his orders – to go look for Lady Anna immediately – and then he had personally escorted her back to her rooms. In front of her door he had asked her if she could have described Anna's kidnapper, but when she stuttered something about the night being too dark and everything being too sudden, he had simply let her go bidding her a good night, effectively dismissing her.

The following day he had held a speech to announce he was momentarily stepping up as acting Duke in order to give some time to the Swan of Arendelle to recover – after all, her parents had been buried not too long before and now her own sister had been taken hostage by a mysterious man…

Elsa finished leafing through the documents, the last one dated 23rd of December of 1520, only a few days earlier – _it had been the first Christmas without Anna_. She had passed more notices of increases in taxes, only those bore Hans' own signature – which wasn't odd, since he had stepped up as acting Duke. But the absence of any copy of letters sent to the aristocracy to notify the increase in the contributions that those nobles who had to answer to Arendelle's authority had to make was odd indeed.

It was another tradition of Arendelle: the crowd of counts and marquises and barons who thrived as they ruled over small portions of the Duchy on behalf of the Duke – or Duchess – had to pay a portion of the taxes themselves. That was mainly to sustain the soldiers the Duchy of Arendelle dispatched all over its lands in order to provide protection – since the nobles weren't allowed to have their own militia – but also for another endless list of political reasons.

Of course, Hans could have failed to send such private notices entirely out of ignorance – and that was something Elsa desperately wanted to believe, but there was some kind of instinct urging her to look into it… the very same instinct that had convinced her to sneak into the study to leaf through stacks of records.

_The instinct that believed Anna was right, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, to talk herself out of it through logic and reason._

Pushing the possibility she dreaded away once more, Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think. Assuming that Hans did know about the private notice tradition – which, truth be told, was a very plausible option: Kai would have surely filled him in on it – he might have stored copies and replies with official correspondence rather than filing them among the proclamations. So the next question was, where did he keep the official correspondence?

Elsa's gaze searched the desk attentively, but spotted nothing. Yet she knew that desk hid a lot more than what met the eyes – hidden compartments, and she knew exactly where they were. Recalling the afternoon spent discovering them all under her father's guidance, she placed her hands on the dark wood and let her fingers wander, looking for the mechanisms hidden among the carvings around the edges. It was a path they remembered well, apparently, for they found the small lever almost immediately, much to her own surprise. She pulled it lightly as she pushed it gently to the left…

A soft _thump_ echoed in her ears and a trembling vibration reverberated through the wood as a hidden drawer appeared from under the edge of the desk.

Satisfied, she pulled it open feeling even more accomplished when she laid her eyes on the paper white envelopes and the dark red, broken sigils. She picked up a letter from Marquis Weselton – a merchant who often based his trades in Arendelle itself – and began reading it, hoping its content would finally put her worries to a rest.

That was not the case.

The next letters she read didn't help either.

Elsa went through them all, her heart pounding harder with every word, understanding dawning on her as her brain pieced all the information together.

_So it had been him after all._

Her breath shallow and her head swimming, spinning with confusion, Elsa put all the letters back in the drawer and slammed it shut, hearing the mechanism click back into place as it locked everything away, hiding it from sight once again.

_It had been him all along._

She put the stacks of records back as well, her characteristic caution preventing her from getting distracted as she rearranged them in the order she had found them, making sure that everything looked exactly like it was before her intrusion. Then she stood and reached for the door.

_She had to get out of there._

She paused barely long enough to listen in and make sure no one was coming, then she bolted out of the study and slammed the door closed behind her. She rushed down the corridors almost automatically, her feet taking her along her preferred path: the way to her room.

One more slam, one more door closing as soon as she had crossed its threshold. Her bedroom welcomed her in its dark embrace: her curtains were drawn – always drawn, except for those mornings when she used to allow Anna to wake her up, even if she tended to close them back as soon as she was out – keeping her chambers in an eternal dusk lit by two lonely candlelights. However, no matter how heavenly familiar the shadows felt, she was still suffocating.

_It wasn't enough. She had to get out._

She rushed to the window and gripped the velvet curtains tight, but habit kicked in before she could yank them apart: she stopped dead in her tracks, her fingers clenched on the dark blue fabric, her teeth nibbling at her lips. Her breath was heavy now, the stress and the run back to her tower catching up to her.

_It had been him. She was a fool._

He clearly had the necessary knowledge to draft the tax increases. He had access to the study, since she had told him herself where she used to keep the key back when he had offered to help her with the paperwork.

She had denied such a possibility as long as possible, but she couldn't keep deceiving herself any longer, not with those letters framing him – letters from the nobles subjected to Arendelle's rule and copies of those he had sent back to them, letters that contained the arrangements he had made to exempt them from paying the contributions… which meant he was definitely the one behind the tax notices, since the money still had to get into Arendelle's treasury somehow.

The fact that he was guilty could explain Anna's flight as well – she knew that, without Elsa's support, she couldn't have been able to do anything to stop him, not from within the castle… so she had changed the game, getting herself out of his reach – and why he had suggested the abduction – maybe he knew that Anna had discovered something, and of course he couldn't say that the lady had run away from her own home because of him, that would have stirred way too many suspicions among the people… crafting the creepy figure of a kidnapper was definitely better and made him look like a protector, even if said kidnapper hadn't been seen ever since nor asked for anything in exchange of his hostage.

There were still more questions though, and some dangerous ones to ask. She still had to understand how, exactly, he had gotten her to sign the notices and send them to the villages without realizing it – but if he had been able to set such a scheme up it clearly couldn't have been too difficult for him to find a way. And she had to figure out what he was trying to accomplish with that maneuver. Her main concern, however, begun with a why: why was he doing it all in the first place? Hans was a Prince. What could Arendelle ever mean to him? Whatever it was he wanted, he could have just demanded it, so why had he gone through all that trouble to pull off such a deception?

Elsa sighed. Too many questions, too many doubts. But there was one thing she knew, a thing that was keeping her there and then, on the threshold, her hands clawing the curtains: the awareness that the people were not going to be able to pay all those taxes for too long – that they were going to starve, that they were going to _die_.

That was something she couldn't allow to happen, and not just because she was supposed to be in charge. It was something beyond duty – she still dreaded the responsibilities, but if she didn't want to be responsible for someone's life she wanted even less to be responsible for someone's death. It was a resolution that went beyond her being heiress and Duchess. After all Anna wasn't, but she had still decided to speak up, to do something about it – to rebel, in some sense.

_I have to do something._

Steeling herself with those thoughts, Elsa finally moved and she yanked the curtains apart violently only to fling the double glass doors open with the same energy.

She strutted out on her balcony as the afternoon Sun flooded her quarters, setting it alight: the pale carpets on the floor, the creamy brocade of the walls, the snowy lace doilies draped across the ebony furniture, the ivory flowing silks around the bed, the milky cushions – everything shone, the white in her room catching fire and reflecting the light, turning the chamber on top of one of the castle's towers into a silvery beacon.

Elsa threw her arms out until her hands reached the railing of the balcony and gripped it tightly. She inhaled deeply, the cold air rushing in her lungs and caressing her skin, making her sigh in relief as the chill brought its peace into her. She stood tall and held her head high, gleaming herself thanks to the pristine dress she was wearing.

_Anna._

Her sister's memory flooded her mind as she watched the Sun, its rays making the waters of the fjord Arendelle was nestled in shimmer. She felt her heart shattering in pieces as fear for her sister's fate tore it apart – _where was she, how had she spent the winter, had she found shelter or had she been harmed, hurt?_

But then something within her fought back. A comforting feeling rekindled warmth in her chest, a soothing balm began to ease the agony twisting in her stomach.

Hope. Faith.

Elsa breathed.

"_I will be waiting for you, Anna._" she thought, remembering the promise her sister had made to her before disappearing over the parapets, her ice-blue eyes burning with a fire they had not harbored for too long. "_But I won't just sit around in the meantime._"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Oooooh my gosh, this got lengthy... but I really hope you've enjoyed it! It's a setting chapter – flashbacks and stream of consciousness plus the whole character+world building – so let me know if anything looks confusing or so.

I'd like to take a moment to thank a dear tumbler friend of mine, wintermoonqueen, who helped me a ton with all the psychological background.

Also, I'd like to thank everyone for being so kind: it took me way too long to upload this, and I do apologize about it. I hope the chapter makes it up to you!

As usual, let me know your impressions and if you spot anything that doesn't work for some reason =) do drop a comment if you have time, they're always nice to read and they keep me happy and motivated!

'Till next chapter!  
_Clarisse_


	4. Masquerade

**chapter three  
****MASQUERADE**

* * *

_[Arendelle – October 1522]_

Unable to help herself, Raelyn raised a gloved hand to move the lace curtains aside and peered out of the carriage window: Arendelle was a beauty to behold on a ball night.

Green and purple flags with golden crocuses were hanged everywhere and, on the main street, they were surrounded by an arch of smaller, triangular white banderoles embroidered with more golden crocuses, encircled by emerald-blue leaves. It generally took at least two days to set everything in place, but once the preparations were done and darkness fell on the night of the event, the fires were lit and the white arches that decorated the main avenue created a path that wound through the city, from its gates all the way up to the castle.

The castle was a wonder of its own. Torches and lanterns were placed under the rooftops and onto every balcony, turning the whole building into a beacon that casted its gleaming reflection on the peacefully rippling waters of the fjord. All of that light pooled into its wide courtyard, where all the carriages were to parade in a line in order for their passengers to dismount and enter the luxurious halls of the castle.

Raelyn always spent the carriage rides with her face pressed against the glass: that shimmering sight was her favorite part of the night.

As they grew closer, however, reason caught up with her and forced her to tear her eyes away from that gorgeous view. She crawled on the seat in front of her and opened the lid that would have allowed her to speak with her coachman.

«Are you ready?» she asked, keeping her voice somewhat down and the lid only half open, just enough for the person sitting on the bench to hear her – all precautions they used to employ to protect themselves from casual prying eyes.

«Really, Scarlet, you're asking me that?» Anna retorted, the bittersweet smirk she hid behind her hat perfectly audible in her voice. «I'm not the one who's about to dance undercover right in the snake's den.»

«And yet between the two of us you're still the one with a price on her head.» Raelyn pointed out, pursing her lips and spying her friend's reaction. «You sure you're okay?»

«I'm fine.» she answered, maybe a bit too quickly. «We've done this before, twice. You sneak in, grab some treats, do your business, charm the charmer and dance the night off while I wait for you to send for me to get out of here. And it's not like we haven't had anything unforeseen happen already.» she added with a giggle.

The blonde girl answered with a short laughter of her own. «Like when you were almost recognized, or when that Marquis tried to 'buy' me?»

The outlaw in disguise bit her lip, summoning all of her self-control not to burst out laughing: that one time had been hilarious. «Well, that's the downside of a very good cover: people will expect you to do… whatever it looks like you do.»

«I don't know if I should feel praised or insulted by that.» her friend retorted, zapping her with a glance.

The redhead allowed herself some more chuckling under her breath before she forced her smile to fade, her face to sober, her expression to straighten. «We're getting closer.»

Raelyn only nodded and she pulled the lid close – no lady would spend a ride chatting with her coachman. She peered out of the window again and the bridge that connected the city and the castle filled her sight.

She sighed deeply to regain her focus and composure as she adjusted her disguise – her elegant but uncomfortably tight black dress, her gloves, her lace mask. Her hand flew to her neck, burdened by the luxurious weight of a precious choker of pitch black pearls and diamonds, nestled in silver frames. She could only imagine the trouble Elsa and gone through to dig out her ancestors' forgotten jewels without being noticed, so that nobody could have wondered why in the world one of the Duchess' personal jewels was around a courtesan's neck.

She felt the carriage come to a halt, so she flexed her toes to make sure those torturing shoes were encasing her poor feet alright. When the carriage door swung open she smiled charmingly to the valet offering her a hand to help her out – and, just like that, her mask was right in place.

Anna watched her dismount gracefully and thank the valet with a few kind words; then she disappeared quickly beyond the majestic doors of the castle, looking so confident with her back straight and her shoulders set, not turning back nor hesitating for the slightest moment.

"_In she goes. Let's see if I can pull off my part of the act._" she thought as she urged Dawn – the horse they had 'borrowed' from that ice harvester, ignoring each and every one of his protests – forward, directing her towards the stables.

She felt her heartbeat quicken slightly: getting in was always the hardest parts for her – the security was higher, which meant too many chances of getting caught for her taste. But she had spoken the truth: they had done it twice before, they could do it again a third time. And it's not like they had a choice: it was a necessary risk.

Yet she swallowed discreetly, because she did know that Raelyn was right: if one of Hans' soldiers were to recognize her she was done, and most likely about to lose her neck too – even if she was recognized as Lady Anna and not as Robin Hood, Hans wouldn't have let her roam free to run her mouth. It was a good thing that Kai was always there, ready to cover for her in case she was stopped by the security: his support had been invaluable to make it through the occasional inspections Hans had ordered but that the man had insisted to carry out by himself – and who could have ever questioned the Duchess' most loyal servant?

Anna spotted him not too far away from the entrance of the stables: he looked as elegant and proper as always, his unmistakable poise making him stand out as a symbol of order among the chaotic flurry of activities at the edges of the courtyard. She brought a hand up and let two fingers slide across the flap of her hat, a gesture that would have looked casual to anyone else, but not to him: Kai spotted her movement and recognized her, nodding quickly in her direction, his face softening for the blink of an eye before he returned to his duties while the deep shadows casted by the torches hid her as she entered the stables.

Anna directed Dawn towards one of the boxes in the corners, where the illumination was scarcer and where things were usually more likely to go unnoticed. She dismounted from the bench and picked up a piece of damp cloth from the hooks on the wall to clean the splashes of mud from the paint of the carriage.

It was truly a beautiful carriage, she admitted to herself, and not for the first time. She really hoped she could keep it – with the proper adjustments, of course – once the outlaw thing she had got going on for the past two years was over.

Elsa had had to come up with a lot of tricks and covers to have the carriage made behind Hans' back… but the result of her endeavor was gorgeous: an elegant, foreign-looking coach with a slightly pointy roof and carved columns. It was quite spacious on the inside, in spite of its modest dimensions, with silvery velvet seats and lace curtains and crystal ornaments and a small glass candleholder that made it comfortable and cozy. It was painted black, with no crests nor coats of arms whatsoever – which would have been suspicious in normal circumstances, but not if a courtesan with a very discreet patron was involved.

Which was also why her very own disguise was that of a young, mute coachman – someone who wouldn't have had the chance to blabber about the 'transactions' he witnessed. A perfect cover for Anna, since that would have prompted people to ignore her, fellow coachmen included, and she would have had the chance to hide from any of Hans' soldiers while she waited to hear from Raelyn.

Finally done with the maintenance of the carriage, she put the cloth back and picked up a brush instead, stepping next to Dawn to curry her.

She had been so lucky to lay her eyes on Little John's cart in the woods, or she wouldn't have known about the ball at all, and she wouldn't have had a horse to pull off the whole courtesan act either – the Merry Man who had lent her the stallion the previous time had returned home as soon as the cold had taken over Frost Wood, as many others had, and he had taken his steed along. Not that a white horse was the best to disappear onto the path… but that really wasn't the moment to be picky, was it? She had gotten lucky enough already. And her pale coat was covered with the dark drapes to match the carriage anyway.

"_Yes._" she thought as she fed a sugar treat to the mare before starting to groom her short mane. "_He really was a blessing in disguise. Even if he's doing his best to behave otherwise._"

As a matter of fact, aside making that night's act possible, Little John hadn't exactly done much else to help to make things easier on anyone. Sometimes she wondered if she shouldn't have just taken the hint and the horse while hitting him on the head hard enough to cause him a loss of memory.

She sighed: what was done was done, and it was pointless to dwell on second thoughts – especially now that they could have distracted her. So she just arranged a pile of fodder for Dawn, patted her on the neck and then, after having made sure of the emptiness of the stables, she hopped on the ladder in the corner and hid herself among the straw stored on the raised hayloft.

She settled down against a tall pile of dried grass, feeling its blades puncturing the livery she was wearing and making her skin itch a bit. Her worry for Raelyn soon became as invasive as a throbbing headache – _what if she was caught or discovered?_

The truth was, she hated having to send someone else in. She wished she could have gone, but there was no chance she could have pulled it off – she would have looked way too much like her own self. No, Raelyn was their best chance.

Yet…

She snorted, resigned, relaxing her back against the hay. She pulled out a dagger from one of her boots – better safe than sorry – and sighed again.

"_Now comes the waiting…_"

* * *

Raelyn smiled warmly at the nobleman – a count or something like that – who was flirting with her. She bent forward slightly, a sensual smirk on her full lips, to whisper sweet nothings and promises she wasn't going to keep in his ear… while her quick, featherlight fingers seized one of the golden flashes pinned to his jacket and made it disappear behind her fan, undetected entirely.

She then stepped away, fighting back a satisfied smirk so that her amiable façade wouldn't falter, and chatted with him for a few more moments before finally excusing herself and disappearing in the crowd of gowns and uniforms.

She gloated as she danced through the guests, not even bothering to try and conceal the pride radiating from her now that she was out of her victim's reach: looking so sure of herself could only strengthen her cover after all… plus, it was fun seeing those stuck-up dames firing glances of old-fashioned scorn at her – and imagining how horrified their embellished faces would have looked if they were to realize that the stunning courtesan who was robbing them of all the attention was also taking their trinkets as souvenirs!

She cautiously hid her ecstatic grin behind the feathers of her fan as she slipped the clasp she had just purloined into one of the many pockets she had sewn among the folds of her dress, making sure to pick an empty one – she couldn't go tinkling around the whole ballroom, now, could she?

It was then, as she stepped aside to let a couple pass in front of her and to discreetly snatch one of the lady's dangling bracelets in the process, that she caught sight of _him_ – the charmer she had to charm, as Anna liked to put it.

Prince Hans of Denmark – firstborn son of Christian the Tyrant, nicknamed 'the Disgraced Prince' by his own people when the scandal concerning his mother had become the most discussed gossip of every marketplace of the Kalmar Union – was now comfortably sprawled on the armchair placed onto the ballroom dais. He looked so confident, his smug face the portrait of a generous, benevolent smile – the best camouflage a royal could decide to wear.

His green eyes were scanning the ballroom attentively, pausing just a moment every time they stumbled across some relevant nobleman or noblewoman of some sort, as if to check that they were all happy and chatting and drinking and dancing. So far he looked quite pleased with whatever he was noticing, since his lips were relaxed and there was no trace of sweat anywhere near his neatly combed copper red sideburns.

He was definitely something to look at, Raelyn had to admit, but the mere sight of so much arrogance bottled in a single person was enough to make her blood boil.

"_At least he's wearing Arendelle's colors_" she mused as she took in his elegant white suit, livened up by the blue waistcoat peeping out from the black flaps of the jacket, by his rich purple cravat and similarly colored sash and by the golden embroideries on his shoulders and on the sides of his pants.

But the regalia hanged above the dais was the Kalmar Union's, not Arendelle's.

She sighed and shrugged, unseen, making a mental list of those pompous individuals his gaze had lingered longer on, deciding on the spot that those were the ones she would have pinched a bit more – oh, she would have left him with quite horde of unhappy, trinket-less nobles to handle… a thankless task indeed!

"_Serves him right for stealing a Duchy when he's got a crown already!_" she thought bitterly, her gaze slipping on the unhappy, self-conscious figure standing to his left, right behind the back of the armchair.

Elsa was unmistakably stiff and definitely uncomfortable… and yet she wasn't budging from her spot, shoulders squared and chin held high and hands neatly folded in front of her, trying to keep her fingers from fidgeting with the lacework of the long sleeves of her dress in order to maintain the poise and the dignity she had been able to build for herself after the little Prince had stripped her of the aura of perfection she had been cloaking herself with her whole life – and right before her subjects, no less.

To Raelyn she looked stunning, the emblem of elegance and grace, hugged as she was by that web of pale lace that covered her fair-skinned arms, neck and shoulders; her pristine, crystal-beaded corset supported her curves and enhanced her already thin waist only to bloom into the milky waterfall of silk that made up her gown. She smoothly raised a delicate hand to her face, brushing aside a rebellious strand of her platinum blonde bangs to casually trap it back into one of the glittering hairpins that kept her low bun in place.

Oh, she looked beautiful alright, Raelyn thought… and that was the reason why Hans was keeping her by her side – well, for that and because she was Arendelle's righteous Duchess: she was the perfect pretty puppet he needed to secure his claim to that little made-up throne he had taken for himself, placing her right behind him and below him through a cunning web of words that had made her look like a weakling, unfitted to rule entirely.

She hid a bitter grin: what Hans didn't know was that Elsa was everything but a mindless porcelain doll…

«Ah, Lady Scarlet!»

Raelyn almost jumped, startled by the little irritating voice that had called her name – or cover name, at least. She immediately caught herself and banned the sly smirk her musings had painted over her face with a flutter of her feathered fan and replacing it with a mysterious, sensual smile.

"_Oh, God, not him again!_"

«Lord Weselton.» she cooed as she recognized that midget of a marquis, her voice delighted and shrill. «What a pleasure to see you here!»

The Marquis of Weselton grinned at her – so broadly that she could even make out his lips from under that towy mustache of his. Raelyn beamed back only to dissimulate the grimace pulling at her lips – a perfectly natural reaction, in her opinion, considering the man standing in front of her.

Wesley Weselton, Marquis of a modest seigniory east of Arendelle he had renamed after himself, was a merchant: a man with no noble blood – though he definitely had all the narcissism of the blue-blooded scum – taken into the aristocracy because of the extremely profitable trading relations he had woven around the Duchy. The old man definitely had a nose for business, but he was also a greedy, power-hungry midget who was ready to sacrifice just about anything if he had even the slightest chance to gain something from it.

And that was why he sickened her so.

«It is so nice to see that you do remember me, my Lady.» the midget squealed, clearly please with himself for having made an impression on such a striking courtesan. «Are you enjoying the ball?»

The young woman chuckled softly. «Oh, Marquis… you know I am a woman of business. I am not supposed to have too much fun!»

The prune gasped dramatically. «Oh, you poor dear, is your patron having you on duty tonight as well? But it is the third ball in a row!»

Raelyn could have mistaken his indignation for concern, had she not known he would have been thrilled to take over as her patron himself, so that he could have been the one to benefit from the gains she was rumored to bring to her mysterious master – a cover story with a hint of truth, weighing all the gold she picked up and handed over to her 'master', the dangerous Robin Hood.

«You know…» the Marquis went on, his hands clasping her gloved ones – "_Here he comes!_" «…you would not have to work so hard, darling, were you to choose to step under my wing.»

«Oh, my Lord!» she chirped, fingers breaking free of his grasp to fly theatrically over her heart. «Your offer is too kind. But I assure you, my patron treats me well.»

The midget sighed, a hint of disappointment flashing across his eyes; but then he looked up at her and smiled, giving up on persuading her – as far as that night was concerned, of course. «Well, at least allow this old man to offer you a dance.»

"_Oh, God, NO!_" she screamed internally, terrified: Wesley Weselton's dancing skills were known throughout the whole Duchy… but not for their elegance or their gracefulness.

«Actually, if our Marquis does not mind, I would like to claim such an honor.»

Raelyn restrained the urge to sigh in relief, hiding her grateful expression with a wave of her fan. She turned around as the Marquis bowed deeply, her pitch black gaze sparkling through the lace of her eyelashes as she curtsied as well.

There he was, the king cobra of that snakes' den: Prince Hans of Denmark. But hey, she would have gladly chosen him over the prune: at least he was pleasant to look at, and far easier to handle.

«Marquis, Lady Scarlet.» Hans greeted them, indirectly giving them permission to get back up.

«Your Highness.» Weselton replied, hiding an amused smile behind his towy mustache as he caught a glimpse of the look the young Prince had shot the blonde courtesan. «It seems that you two have some business to discuss. I shall take my leave then.»

Hans brought his attention back to him, nodding. «It is very much appreciated, Wesley. Thank you. I will not forget it.»

The midget bowed again briefly and disappeared in the crowd of aristocrats, leaving Raelyn and Hans to their game of cat and mouse.

_Had he known the one he believed a mouse was a wolf in disguise…_

Hans waited until he was out of sight, then turned its full attention to the gorgeous courtesan standing tall and proud just right of him. He bent in a shallow curtsy, taking her fingers in his palm to place the impression of a kiss on the back of her gloved hand.

«My lady.» he whispered, vivid green eyes staring up to her and taking in her outrageously low-cut bodice, then he straightened his back. «It is nice to see you again.»

The blonde young woman chuckled amiably in delight, leaning closer to him, smiling warmly, mischievously. «I missed you too, Your Highness.»

The Prince's own conspiratorial grin grew as he, entranced by her boldness as he was, gave in to the temptation of wrapping his arm around her waist. «I am afraid you will have to let me have this dance now, or our dear Marquis shall be back for you.»

«God forbid!» she replied immediately, her own arm snaking around his back, her fingers fluttering lively only to come to a rest on his shoulder. «I am yours.»

* * *

From her vantage point at the end of the ballroom, Elsa smirked at the quick dance performed by Raelyn's fingers. She finally allowed herself to draw a proper breath for the first time that night, relief spreading through her whole being: she hadn't been sure that she – _and Anna_ – would have made it there… but they had, which meant that everything had gone smoothly. And with Raelyn there to take care of the Prince she had at least a couple of hours of freedom.

Hours she wasn't about to spend time frozen there on that dais.

She smiled in anticipation as she finally abandoned her post and stepped down to join the lords and ladies chatting happily all over the ballroom. She knew that Hans wouldn't have approved it: he didn't want her to interact with the nobles, didn't want her to leave the dais – he wanted her to stay still up there all night, smiling and bowing. He wanted her to be the perfect girl.

…but Hans was paying to mind to her now, not mesmerized as he was by the masked courtesan dancing with him. And she was so done playing the perfect girl.

She checked behind her, just to make sure she was fine, and she immediately saw the Prince making with the thief in disguise twirl in his arms – honestly, they weren't very difficult to spot. She smirked with utter satisfaction when she noticed how oblivious Hans was to everything, captivated entirely. Not that she could blame him: Lady Scarlet looked magnificent, and she effectively managed to catalyze everyone's attention on her gorgeous self.

And that gown she had secretly commissioned for her – which had been all but an easy feat – made her look even more stunning that she already was. She wore a tight, outrageously low-cut bodice that enhanced her waist and her curves, gaining in elegance thanks to the intricate embroideries and to the lacy frills resting on her upper arms, which made her look less exposed while leaving her shoulders bare. Her skirts bloomed around her as she twirled and danced, the many ruffles that embellished it providing an even more dramatic impression of volume – and they were such a perfect disguise for all those little pockets sewn into it.

Elsa couldn't help but feel pride swell within her heart: that was her very own design, after all, and it had effectively charmed the charmer – Hans could not take his eyes off of her.

And neither could the ballroom. Because that dress wasn't of a light color – like those the younger ladies preferred to wear – nor beaded with jewels – in the dames' fashion – nor of one of the darker shades – a range of hues that courtesans tended to claim as their own. No, that dress was pitch black: a black so pure it almost shone, a black so thick it felt like she was clad of solid shadow, a black so powerful it outshone even Elsa's pristine white gown.

And Elsa couldn't have been happier about it.

Grinning for a split second, she turned and merged with the crowd, confusing herself among the sea of brightly colored gowns, trying to mitigate the gleaming halo cast by her own snowy dress, ignoring the ever-present part of herself that only wanted to spin around and hide away.

She had needed quite some time to grow accustomed to all that – the chatter, the stares, the noise, the narrowness. It was never easy and she was never really comfortable, but it was necessary: she had to remind the nobles that the Swan of Arendelle was not just a pretty puppet in the Prince's clever hands.

An elegant, poised and polite smile painted on her lips, she began to walk across the ballroom, greeting people and chatting with all she came across, indiscriminately: each and every one of her subjects had to know that she was still here, that she wasn't done yet.

Over those past months Elsa had worked hard to build herself an entourage of friendly faces, the majority of them coming from her father's own circle of faithful supporters – people who knew what he had trained her for, what she was capable of. They were the ones who stood up for her during the official meetings, the ones who worked to give her the chance to speak to other noblemen, guaranteeing for her in the eyes of the old-fashioned aristocracy.

But the thing that had really surprised the young Duchess was how the wives of those men had welcomed her with open arms, never failing to support her and establishing a network of information – and some did it even behind their husbands' backs, when they didn't agree to stand beside her themselves – that could have rivaled those of any king's trained spies. And many of them also made for an extremely pleasant company for afternoon teas.

«Your Grace, my dear!»

Elsa's face lit up at that call, immediately recognizing the voice addressing her. She turned just in time to notice the Baroness Margrethe Baerd approaching through the crowd, almost dragging another young girl in her wake. The platinum blonde woman halted, allowing them to reach her.

Margrethe was probably Elsa's favorite dame, and she was an amazing woman. Good natured and strong willed, whatever she may have lacked in height she definitely made up for in spirit. She had a plump figure, with broad shoulders, ash-blonde hair and lively brown eyes that shone in her round face, radiating enough energy to make her gentle smile sparkle. And she was striking – but it wasn't her appearance that made her look so gorgeous, no: it as the sheer self-confidence she projected all around to the point that any other beauty paled in comparison.

«Baroness Margrethe.» Elsa greeted her, genuinely happy to see her. «I am glad you could attend the ball.»

«I would have never missed the occasion, my dear, they are too much fun!» the woman replied as she took the girl's hands into hers, squeezing lightly «My, you look absolutely splendid!»

The Duchess smiled, squeezing back and feeling the woman's support flow into her. «You are too kind, and I have to admit that this thing is actually choking me.» she confessed, freeing a hand to tug slightly at the sapphire brooch clasped on the lacy neckline of her dress, right below her throat. «I dare say that you seem to be a lot more comfortable than I am, even if that corset looks extremely tight.»

Margrethe laughed, tilting her head backwards a little, a playful smile on her face. «What can I say, dear, I have a lot of flesh I can squeeze up! Gotta do it to keep my lovely husband close, with all these pretty girls twirling around… speaking of which, where did– ah, there she is!» she rambled as she pulled the girl she had been dragging along out of the crowd and next to her. «Dear, have you met Lady Lena? She has just been married to our _beloved_ Lord Haugen.»

Elsa pretended not to notice the sarcasm dripping off the dame's voice, her eyes shifting to focus on the young lady. «Oh, has she now? Well then, congratulations.»

Lena lowered her chocolate brown eyes and curtsied perfectly. «Thank you, Your Grace.»

She seemed like a fine girl, the Duchess thought, and young – barely sixteen, probably. She was petite and pretty, with slick light brown hair pulled up in a bun behind her head, just a couple of locks dangling free, styled in curls to frame her unblemished face. The gown she wore suited her perfectly: it was a soft, pale dusty pink that complimented her complexion and it was made of a voluminous skirt topped by a tight, heart-shaped embroidered bodice with sleeves of a transparent, silky veil.

«It is nice to meet you, Lady Lena. Are you enjoying the ball?» Elsa inquired, eyeing her guest curiously: she was sure Margrethe had a reason for wanting them to meet, but she couldn't quite figure it out.

«Of course, Your Grace. It is truly wonderful.»

«I had told you so, dear!» the Baroness interjected, raising a hand to brush some of those shorter strands of hair out of the young lady's face, who winced in surprise. «Can you believe it, Your Grace? Our sweet lady here almost did not come at all! She is so shy, the poor dear, always so alone in that big mansion of hers up in the hills, she doesn't know anyone. I was hoping she could have joined us for our afternoon teas?»

Elsa almost frowned, confused but alerted by the serious look in the woman's eyes – so serious it actually contradicted the cheerful tone of her voice. Her own gaze sharpened, to the point that the girl shifter under her icy, piercing stare. She resisted the urge to bite her lips – Margrethe was trying to tell her something, she knew that, _but wha-_

And then she noticed.

The candlelight flickered on the brown-eyed young lady, caressing a spot that the curled locks had been concealing until the dame had patted them away. There she saw it, just between her ear and her jaw: a bruise. It was merely a light shadow, almost impossible to make out because of the thick layer of powder that had been carefully applied to dismiss it as a fleeting shade cast by her own hairstyle.

The gears in Elsa's mind clicked and churned as she finally realized what Margrethe wanted her to understand. She nodded in her direction, acknowledging how she relaxed slightly in response.

«You are right, Baroness.» she said, resuming the conversation from where she had let it trail off, fighting to keep an outraged snarl safe within her throat and out of her own voice. She then addressed the girl – _she was only sixteen, for heaven's sake, she was about the same age as Anna…_ – directly, filling her own eyes with sympathy and understanding, but banning those emotions from any other feature of her face. «Lady Lena, you simply must join us for tea. A fine young woman like you should not spend all her days locked up in her own castle.»

Many, many emotions flashed across Lena's eyes, which – and now Elsa could see it clearly – had been terrified up to that moment: panic and embarrassment, soon substituted by relief and a spark of comfort… and then, just as hope had begun to dawn on her face, fear again.

Lena winced, struggling to rein in her unease. She raised her hand to untuck the curl from behind her ear so that it would cover the spot again – also as an attempt to dissimulate her effort to regain her composure. «It is very kind of you, Your Grace.» she then said, a shiver in the undercurrents of her polite voice. «But I am afraid that my lord husband might not be too happy about it.»

Elsa reached out with her hands to hold the lady's ones, who started slightly, surprised. «I will not have a such a lovely young lady kept away from my court by any lord husband who is willing to let her rot in loneliness!» she stated in a lighthearted tone, her voice careless and joking, cloaking her accusations with a lid of snobbish frivolity.

But her eyes were dead serious, and Lena understood. So did Margrethe, who clapped her hands in delight.

«Of course your lord husband will let you come, dear!» she chirped excitedly as she comfortingly patted the girl's arm. «An invitation for tea from the Duchess, under the wing of our young Prince himself? Trust me, he will be _begging_ for you to accept!» she winked, driving a laughter from the two young women.

A small, tentative smile formed on Lena's lips.

Elsa sighed inwardly in relief. She drew back slightly, the warmth she had just shown retreating to ket the poise take over again. «Splendid. I shall be sending an invitation your way, then.» she approved, the Swan of Arendelle smoothing her feathers. «Lady Lena, have you already tried our krumcake? Oh, you simply must. Baroness, would you be so kind to show her to our buffet? And may I have a word with your lord husband, please?»

Margrethe curtsied. «It would be my pleasure. Alexander had told me you two had something to discuss. I have tried to bring him along, but we must have gotten separated. Alexander!» she called, turning to search the horde of nobles. «Alexander! Oh, he is never around when I need him.» she remarked. «Alexander!»

The crowd parted slightly behind Margrethe's back as a tall, lean man made his way through. Elsa noticed him, but when he brought a finger to his lips she only flashed him a mischievous grin and kept quiet. She turned her gaze back to the Baroness, who was growing rather impatient.

«Alex-»

«You called, my dear?»

Margrethe jumped, startled by the unexpected voice coming from behind her. She spun around and, upon recognizing her lord husband, Baron Alexander Baerd, she began to scold him – «_Alexander! How dare you disappear only to sneak up on me like that? Have you no consideration for my poor nerves?»_

Sensing the affection in her voice, Alexander simply let her rant on, defending himself only stating that "he had the utmost respect for her nerves".

While Lena simply stared, undoubtedly dumbfounded at the existence of such a loving relationship between a husband and a wife, Elsa watched the two lovebirds with a smile.

She adored those two, for so many reasons. Margrethe made for a wonderful company, and Alexander was just as extraordinary. He was that same knight who, almost three years earlier, had brought her the news of her parents' death.

Being one of his most loyal soldiers and one of the best strategists of all the Kalmar Union, he had taken over her father's position as the lead of a part of the troops when the war against Sweden had finally exploded almost a year before, back in January. However, his military career hadn't lasted very long: his leg had suffered a serious injury as he was fighting to protect a girl from one of the villages close to the borders – the very same girl who, in fact, had cared for him as he healed and saved his life, who also happened to be the woman he was now married to. Unfortunately the damage done by the enemy sword had been too severe to restore his leg to a perfect state: he was forced to limp and walk with a cane, so fighting was definitely out of the question. But Elsa knew that the commanders under Prince Valdemar's lead still valued his strategic abilities very much, to the point they still contacted him every now and then.

And that had been one of the reasons why she had insisted so much to make him a Baron – and even Hans hadn't had the possibility to object when she had brought up her parents' memory and how much they trusted him... and why she had always kept him close to her side.

The Duchess cleared her throat, effectively gaining the attention of the bickering couple. «It is nice to see you are well, Baron. How is your leg tonight?»

«It is doing rather well. So well, in fact, I might even be able to dance a couple of waltzes.» Alexander Baerd curtsied and humbly took her hand, leaving a chivalrous kiss on her knuckles. «You look as magnificent as ever, Your Grace.»

Elsa allowed herself a muffled chuckle. «And you are as polite as ever, Alexander.»

A hint of amusement shimmered in the man's dark blue eyes. «Well, were I to offend you out of dumbness, I would be in great troubles. My beloved Margrethe would never forgive me if you stopped inviting her over for tea because of my discourtesy.»

Lady Baerd squealed in disdain and patted her husband's arm angrily, amidst everyone's giggles. She then stepped aside, an arm enveloping Lena's shoulders. «Very well then! This just means that dear Lena here and I will just go over to the buffet and leave the two of you to your talk. But do not think I will be bringing you back a tart, Alexander, because I will not!»

Elsa smiled as she watched her friend trot away towards the corner of the ballroom where the buffet had been laid out. She then turned her attention back to the Baron, who was affectionately staring at his beloved's figure. He probably sensed her gaze because he turned his eyes to her, and then offered a cocky smile.

The Duchess' eyebrow arched. «She is bringing you back a tart for sure, is she not?»

Alexander's grin widened. «For sure, my lady!»

Elsa laughed wholeheartedly.

«You know, it is refreshing to have a married couple of two individuals who genuinely love one another, among all these other arranged marriages.» she added, a pleasant wave of relief crashing into her as she noticed a loathed copper head chasing after a ruffle of black skirts headed towards the gardens.

Alexander nodded. «Yes, I am glad that Margrethe managed to introduce you to lady Lena. That poor girl.»

And that was another one of the traits for which Elsa cherished Baron Baerd so much: he sympathized.

Elsa knew that there wasn't – and probably there would have never been – much she could have done for those like Lena. It was simply the status quo: they lived in a patriarchal reality that averagely didn't value women very much, if at all. Truthfully, she wasn't even sure _she_ would have managed to dodge a political marriage, which might have been necessary just to secure her position as Duchess. And yet, Elsa had very clear what the difference between being able to decide her own fate and being abused was.

She couldn't change the condition of women, and that she had to accept. But she wasn't going to tolerate any form or beating either. She couldn't just turn away and pretend that there was nothing wrong with treating women who didn't even have any mean to escape such a fate.

Because that could have been Anna. Lena's bruise could have been _Anna's_.

Never. Not in her Duchy. Not if she could prevent it.

She would have stood up for those women… and she couldn't wait to be rid of Hans in order to start working in that direction.

"_Time to get down to business, then._"

The sound of a throat being cleared prompted her to turn. Alexander had somehow perceived she was ready to get serious, to start discussing the issues and the strategies – he had probably read some kind of sign from her, maybe a change in her stance, or maybe the glint of determined steel in her eyes. So he bowed slightly, his hand extended in an invitation.

«May I offer you a dance, my lady?»

Elsa sighed. She knew how to dance of course. Only she didn't want to. She didn't like it, and she never felt comfortable with it: it was too easy to misstep, and everyone would have known because the steps were always the same.

And yet, it was necessary: were she caught making plans and arrangements, it would have been a disaster, and standing and talking would have drawn too much attention… while dancing wouldn't have. And if Hans had complained about her leaving the dais, she could have retorted she was simply behaving like a good hostess, like the good girl she had been trained to be.

Yes, dancing was the perfect cover. She didn't enjoy it, but it was the perfect cover.

For that reason she curtsied shallowly and smiled at Alexander. «It would be my pleasure, Baron.»

* * *

Raelyn felt Hans' breath rolling on the exposed skin of her neck, the heat of his chest pressing urgently against her back in a rustle of cloth brushing cloth. She scoffed inwardly, moaned outwardly.

The Prince clearly took it as a good sign because his hands held her hips tighter, his lips trembled against the bare skin of her shoulders. Perfectly in character, Raelyn languidly reclined her head and let it rest against his shoulder as she ran her fingers on the arm he had wrapped around her waist.

She sighed longingly: robbing him of those shiny gold cufflinks sitting there at the end of his sleeves would have been so, so easy – especially considering how 'busy' he was…

…but no, she reminded herself, she could never take anything from Hans. Not without putting her cover at stake. The nobles she had relieved of their trinkets would have been bursting with complaints soon enough, and if he noticed he had been robbed as well he would have suspected of all those he had been close to… including her. Which wouldn't have been good at all.

She chased temptation off her mind and sighed again – something the young man standing behind her clearly took as a sign of appreciation, his lips pressing closer, trapping her between his body and the railing of that shady corner of the patio. When his roaming hands left her corset to move towards her skirt, she spun within his arms to face him, effectively distracting him from the folds of her gown – she would have never been able to talk herself out of troubles if he found the trinkets stuffed in her pockets…

He growled in disappointment, pushing her back against one of the stone columns. «Why not?»

«Because there are rules, Your Highness.» she whispered back, feeding him the excuse she had used every other time. «You know it, I do not have the freedom to choose my lovers. And I am afraid I already have a date for tonight.»

Hans pulled back a little, his crystal green eyes flashing with outrage. «I am the _Prince_. I should not even have to ask. Why would your patron refuse to hand you over to me and spare me this headache?»

«Greed, I suppose.» she chuckled as the pulled him closer, arching her back just enough to drive a tortured groan from his mouth. She smiled teasingly, reveling in his frustration. «I bring him good business. He is not going to give me up as long as he can spill this kind of gold from the bored noblemen.»

He leaned in, almost forcing his kiss on her lips, his fingers cupping her face and tracing the lower hem of the lace that confused her features. «I could pay. Buy you from him, so you will be mine alone and we would not have to worry about him ever again.»

The black clad courtesan smiled against his mouth, but her hands rose to meet his and move them away from her mask, lowering them just below her throat – and Hans could feel the softness of her cleavage only a breath away from his touch…

«I suppose he believes even you could not afford me.» she sentenced, breaking the kiss apart and leaning against the veranda's column.

Hans scoffed, his body pressing against her. «I am the _Prince_.»

«But not the future King, apparently.» she retorted quickly, teasingly. «That would be your brother.»

«Half-brother.» he corrected automatically. His fingers seized one of Realyn's golden locks, wrapping and unwrapping it around the tips as their owner just stared at the rich, blazing reflections the torches casted on her hair, lost in thought. «It is not set in stone yet. And anyway, soon, I will have enough power to checkmate even our beloved king-to-be.»

Raelyn tilted her head slightly to the side, drinking up the information, keeping quiet just in case Hans was about to slip and spill something else, something important…

…but no, the little Prince just shook his head and smiled down at her. «Soon, my love, all this game of play pretend will be over.»

Banishing disappointment from her mind, the young woman gave him a wolfish grin. «Oh, believe me, Your Highness: _that_ is something I am really looking forward to.»

Bells tolled in the distance.

Hans dove right in to kiss her, but his lips met fabric instead of flesh. He opened his eyes, looking first at her fingers resting on his mouth, then at her face, half obscured by the lace and the shadows. «Must you go?»

She nodded.

His hand caressed her wrist, then intertwined with hers. «Can't you be a little late?»

The smile on the courtesan's full lips froze, stiffening with nervousness. «I would be in troubles.»

«Even if you said you have been delayed by the Prince himself?» he murmured, the arm behind her back dragging her closer. His skin, trapped under too many layers of fabric, tingled with the desire to meet hers, to plunge into hers…

Raelyn barely suppressed the urge to bite him hard, hard enough to draw blood. Indignation and hatred pooled in her chest, swelling, rising like a scorching wave so incandescent it could have set ablaze the pitch black coals of her irises. Fighting the furious snarl trembling in her throat, she hissed: «Your Highn-»

«Your Highness!»

Hans almost snapped at the interruption, but caught himself at the last moment: he had to be on his best behavior the whole time in order to gain the trust of the castle staff – they were being extremely difficult to win over, being loyal to the bone as they were to their precious little Duchess. He couldn't risk any hindrances only because of a little frustration.

For that reason he turned a severe face to the guard standing near the main door and addressed him with a calm voice, stepping into the light. «Yes?»

«Pardon me for the interruption, Your Highness, but there seem to be some troubled guests who demand to speak with you immediately.»

A sense of unease stirring within him, the Prince nodded. «Thank you. Please, tell them I shall be with them in a moment.»

The guard saluted. «Yes, Your Highness.»

Hans waited for him to vanish beyond the doors of the castle, then sank back into the shadows that enshrouded that corner of the veranda where the courtesan awaited him.

«It seems I will make my date on time.» she said when he came near, the glint of an enigmatic smile on her face.

He bowed his head slightly, admitting defeat. «It seems indeed. Will you be back for the next ball?»

The woman shrugged, the fair skin of her bare shoulders almost bright against the darkness of her dress. «If my patron sends me, I shall come.»

The Prince sighed, unsatisfied but resigned. «Until then.»

«Until then.» she echoed, stepping close to him for one last kiss.

He met her lips with frustration and desire, but chose not to linger: he had a pretty good idea of what the aristocrats wanted to whine about, and making them wait would have been counterproductive indeed. He tore himself away from the woman's alluring scent and sweet lips and warm embrace, curtsying his goodbye and hurrying back inside.

Raelyn watched him go without making a sound, stepping back slowly and thus fading deeper among the shadows. There, safe in those dark coils, finally alone, she sighed her relief.

"_That was close_" she thought to herself, her breath deepening as she freely savored the fresh air and the flowery fragrances rising from the garden in waves – orchids, buckbeans, foxgloves… and crocuses, of course. She inhaled them happily, taking one more moment to enjoy being outside again. It was far too stuffy and smelly inside for her likings.

Then she gathered her skirts, feeling the weight of the fabrics and of the stolen trinkets in her arms, and took the short but wide staircase that led to the courtyard. She checked her surroundings to make sure she was alone and unnoticed – for a lucky coincidence, that 'emergency' the little Prince had to take care of seemed to have called in all of the guards too – and, instead of making her way to the stables, she headed towards a dark narrow corridor nestled between the veranda and the castle wall. Following it, she arrived to a small, insignificant-looking door – which she found unlocked – that opened on a steep staircase, leading downwards.

She was late, she realized as she descended the stone steps. Hans seemed to have grown a bit too fond of her… something they definitely hadn't taken into account. Not that it was a bad thing – they could definitely use that to their advantage – but it made it harder to sneak around. Not to mention it would have taken her longer to get away from him, and that was bad, since they didn't have too much time to begin with. Those petty nobles had picked just the right moment to realize they had been robbed of their precious jewels, but she couldn't count on such a lucky coincidence to occur every time. She resolved to go over her plan to adjust her timing, making sure she would have always had a way out, just in case thing got dire in the future.

Reaching the end of the staircase, she found herself in a dim, cold room. The walls were carved in stone and lined by stacks of wooden boxes, a humid scent filling the space: a cellar. And pacing back and forth across the room, oblivious to the cold entirely, the white train of her gown immaculate as ever, there was Elsa.

How she managed to keep her dress spotless even while sneaking in and out of secret passages to talk with an outlaw in disguise would have always been a mystery to Raelyn.

She shook her blonde head and cleared her throat, startling the young Duchess who whirled around in a tornado of pearl and snowy silver.

Recognizing her, Elsa sighed in relief. «There you are!»

* * *

Anna stirred, bothered by whatever pointy thing was prickling her back. She straightened a little, just enough to smooth her vest – and caught that annoying blade of dried grass that had been poking her through the livery she wore.

She sighed: she was getting tired of waiting. And it was getting late, she knew it because she had heard a couple of coachmen coming in to ready their carriages and drive them out, so that their masters and mistresses could find them neatly lined up as soon as they stepped out the castle. That was a good thing, for it meant their departure wouldn't have been the first of the night and it wouldn't have drawn too much attention… but she was bored, so tired of waiting and sitting still.

What if something had happened? She had heard some commotion something like an hour earlier, she had heard the guards leave their posts around the courtyard because they had been summoned back inside. It was probably because of the guests realizing they had been robbed. Had Raelyn been caught? It was unlikely: they had an emergency plan to prevent being caught off guard and, after all, no one had come searching for her – and being her coachman, she would have been considered her associate for sure. But what if Hans had identified her and taken her captive and was simply waiting for the ball to end before starting his interrogation? _God, what if she was in Rolf's clutches now, being tortured… what if they had killed her already?_

«Psst! Anna?»

The girl jumped when the whisper tore her from her own dark thoughts. She quickly crawled on all fours and she crouched behind a pile of dried grass – more straws puncturing through her jacket, great! – on the edge of the hayloft. Hidden, she peeked out… and smiled when she caught sight of the little boy standing in the middle of the stables, looking around.

«Olaf!» she called back, her voice as low as possible, as she finally abandoned her hiding place and reached for the ladder.

The kid saw her and ran towards her with his arms wide open. Anna spun as soon as her feet touched the ground, extending her own arms to catch the child and lift him up, his little hands coming together as he crashed into her to hug her warmly. The young woman twirled and laughed, the twelve-year-old boy's giggles echoing her own.

«You're getting big!» she wheezed as she finally came to a halt, placing his weight on her hip. «Good for you! But, um, how about letting go now?»

Olaf chuckled and broke the hug, allowing her to set him back on the ground. He had a wide, happy smile on his face – so wide and happy, actually, that his big front teeth seemed to have a smile of their very own – and loving puppy eyes.

And he really was getting big alright, even if with those twiggy arms and legs of his he definitely didn't look make him look like it. Looking at his happy face though – and smiling at his cake-stained mouth – Anna finally felt her heart lighten: Olaf wouldn't have been that cheerful if something bad had happened. «Got a message for me, young man?»

He immediately lit up. «Yeah! Ra- I mean, Scarlet said to get the carriage, she's all done.»

The redhead suddenly felt able to breathe properly again. «Finally!» she exclaimed, hurrying to Dawn's «Thanks, Olaf! Now go back to the castle before someone spots you out here. And tell Duana to give you an extra piece of cake for being such a good page!»

«'Kay! Bye!» he chirped… and off he went, heading outside, his black shaggy hair ruffled by his speed.

The redhead snorted, amused by all that cheerfulness, then focused on the preparations. She hastily put the harness on Dawn and brought her back to the carriage, connecting all the straps and the two bars to her saddle and collar to ultimately maneuver her out of the stables. She lowered her hat on her face to make sure nobody could catch even a glimpse of her features as she lead the mare across the courtyard, making her halt in front of the marble staircase.

Raelyn appeared only a handful of moments later, her silhouette a shadow against the brightness coming from the halls of the castle. She strut out slowly, every captivating swing of her hips a deliberate show for the sake of any casual witnesses.

"_She's so good at this._" Anna snorted, amused, as she hopped off her seat to open the carriage door for her mistress.

The two girls exchanged only a blink of an eye to reassure one another, knowing that lingering there could have been a deadly risk. So Raelyn entered the carriage without even a nod, and Anna went back to the bench. She clicked her tongue as she loosely flicked the reins. As Dawn headed for the gates, she nodded absentmindedly to pretend she had just been told where to go.

Once they finally reached and rode past the city walls, she sighed. Leaving Arendelle behind always made her feel strange: on one side it felt wrong and it pained her, because Arendelle was _home_, but on the other side it filled her with pride and relief, because it meant that they had made it, that they had fooled Hans, that they were safe and sound and out of his grasp. It was… complicated, so complicated it gave her a headache, and she couldn't afford a headache in that moment: the woods were in sight.

«Lost in thought, Anna?» Raelyn asked, sitting down on the bench next to her, just a little bit after they had passed the first line of trees.

Anna wasn't even surprised by the fact that she had climbed out of the window and walked on the roof of a moving coach to get there: she did it every time. She just slid aside a bit, reins in one hand, making sure her friend had enough room to sit.

She paid her a quick glance – she had changed out of her ball gown, she noticed – and smiled briefly at her before turning her eyes back to the forest path. «A bit, but I will deal with it later. How was the ball?»

Raelyn – back to her outlaw self, with her black boots and leather pants and red undershirt and tight corset, that had been hidden under the seats of the carriage – grinned slyly. «Pretty interesting. The robberies went all smoothly. But we'll have to rearrange my timing a little bit and come up with a safe way out of things, and to get Hans off of me. He made me late tonight, and if it hadn't been for those whiny aristocrats realizing their precious golden flashes had disappeared I might not have been able to get away without blowing my cover at all.»

Anna nodded slowly, her thoughts quickly regrouping to face the little incident. «We'll come up with something.» then her gaze settled on her, a teasing glint in her eyes to match the teasing smile on her lips. «So you mean to tell me that our dear little Prince has a crush on you?!»

The blonde girl scoffed. «Well don't sound so surprised! I've been flirting with him this whole time after all and you must admit I look great in the dresses. Plus, at least I can talk about something more interesting than just tea parties and hairstyles.»

«Oh, I'm sure your topics were exactly what he fell for.» Anna snorted.

«Why, how dare you!» her friend hissed as she smacked her lightly on a shoulder. «For the records, my topics are so interesting that I managed to lure him into telling me what he's planning.»

The redhead tore her eyes from the road, her jaw dropping open in a silent exclamation. «You _what_?!»

«Well, not his whole plan.» Raelyn hurried to specify. «But I know what he's after. I was mocking him for not being first in line to the throne and I expected him to correct me and say it wasn't final, which he did, but then he added that even if he won't get the throne himself he'll still have acquired enough power to hold an advantage over his brother.»

Anna nodded deliberately slowly, thoughts and theories swarming her mind. «So he's not after power just for the sake of it. He wants it to be sure that he's got the upper hand over his brother in case he doesn't become king himself.»

«Yeah, that sums it up.» her friend nodded.

She, however, shook her head. «But what role does Arendelle play in his scheme? And why haven't we found out any of this before, like a mention in his letters or-»

«The thing is, Anna…» the blonde outlaw interjected. «…I don't think he keeps any written record of this thing. If it's his brother and his father he's planning to trick, I doubt he's spilled any ink on this, not when every drop can stack evidence against him. He'd be tried for treason if this ever came up, and he's far too aware of it.» she paused, then added: «And far too smart too, even if I hate to admit it.»

The redhead's face twisted in a mixture of anger and disgust. She kept quiet for a bit, then finally asked that question she had kept at bay until that point. «And my sister? How… how is Elsa?»

«She's alright.» Raelyn answered right away, knowing how hard it was for her friend to keep that question last. «As spotless and graceful as usual. Interestingly, she found out about the ball only at the last minute. That's why she hasn't been able to warn us herself.»

Anna's lips were pursed now, painting a worried line on her face. «So Hans did suspect she could be implicated.»

«Well, tonight apparently proved him wrong then: she didn't send us a message, but the robberies happened anyway.» her friend reasoned quickly, hoping to ease that anxious crease on the outlaw's brow.

She only nodded, worry still twisting in her eyes. «Anything else? News or changes or…?»

The blonde thief shook her head, her ponytail swinging behind her, brushing her back. «Not really. But I think Duana's going to make a round of the castle sometime soon, so Elsa can fill you in on that next month.»

Eagerness sent a shiver down Anna's spine: All Saints' Day was drawing near – it was just a matter of weeks now. _She would have finally hugged her sister again._

«She's fine, Anna.» Raelyn murmured as she placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, her usual sharpness dulled by the glistening in those green-blue eyes. «By the way, she sends these.»

The redhead watched as her friend picked up a bundle that had been sitting next to her for the ride and unwrapped it, revealing two tarts. Her mouth watering on sight, she pleaded: «Tell me the one with chocolate is mine.»

Raelyn threw her head back as she laughed wholeheartedly. «Of course it's yours! Mine's the one with blueberries.»

«Sweet!» she sighed, reaching out for her tart and taking one big bite out of it. «Oh, phis iph goodh.» she managed to utter, her pronunciation altered by the mouthful.

Raelyn nodded her agreement. «You know, as used as I am living in the woods, I have to admit that sometimes it's nice to eat something you didn't have to hunt, kill and skin first.»

«Oh, I feel you.» Anna seconded, licking some of the chocolate off her fingers. «Did Duana bake these?»

«Yeah.»

Silence fell between the two young women as they ate the tarts, savoring each bite and enjoying their ride quietly for a bit, to the point that they deliberately let Dawn slow down.

The last piece swallowed, Anna inhaled and exhaled deeply.

The forest looked so peaceful right there and then, with the silver glow of the Moon casting blades of light through the branches, and the rich fragrance of the undergrowth permeating everything, the thick smell of resin clinging to their hair.

«We're getting there.» she mumbled, immediately getting her friend's attention. «We've been at this for more than a year and we finally know what he's after. Now we just have to figure out what role Arendelle plays in his plan and we'll be all set.»

A grim smile grew on Raelyn's face. «That's a bit easier said than done, you know. Even if we do manage to find out what he wants and a way to stop him from getting it, how will you kick him out of the Duchy? He's the Prince.»

«I'll figure it out.» the outlaw replied, dismissing the objection with a wave of her hand. «Besides, I won't be able to make plans about it until we don't find out what he wants from Arendelle, so I say we focus on that first.»

The blonde woman nodded. «Got any ideas?»

«Not really.» Anna replied, her teeth chewing on her chocolate-stained lip. «But I think Elsa might.»

«Oh? Do you want me t-»

«No, no messages.» she interjected right away. «If Hans is watching her it's too much of a risk. I'll ask her when I see her, it's not that much longer anyway. Let's just keep up our usual activities for a bit: stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, getting our hands on his correspondence, messing with the Captain.» her smirk faded into a sigh while she added: «For right now, I just want to enjoy the rest of this ride.»

Raelyn smirked. «Well, my dear Robin, you'd better enjoy it from the carriage while you change back to your hood. We're almost there.»

Her friend just rolled her eyes. «You can be such a killjoy sometimes, you know that?»

She just laughed, then proceeded to knock off her hat – which luckily fell back on the carriage roof – and ruffle her strawberry blonde hair in one single motion.

«Alright, alright, I'm going!» her victim hissed, slapping her hand away.

Raelyn nodded approvingly as her friend seized the hat and began to tread the edge of the roof, mumbling her protests. So she added: «And do clean up your face while you're at it, you got chocolate everywhere!»

A high-pitched, annoyed moan was her only answer. She giggled and then – once she was sure Anna had made it inside the carriage – she urged Dawn to pick up some speed.

Soon they would have had to abandon the beaten track to head down a former road now overgrown with moss and grass that traveled across the very heart of the forest – which was the very reason why it hadn't been walked for a long time. And they were almost there: the trees were growing taller, the undergrowth bushier, the darkness thicker. In a matter of minutes the shadows she cherished so much would have descended on them, swallowed them whole – black draped horse and black lacquered carriage and black eyed coachman.

Frost Wood was welcoming them into its tenebrous core.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello, _dearies_!

Hope do you enjoyed this chapter, because it's been a pain to upload... FFnet and my computer can't cooperate, apparently! But anyway, we got so many things happening – did you see how Raelyn cleaned up?! And we even met a few new characters – Lena, Alexander and Margrethe – and a few old friends – like Olaf! There are also mentions of other characters, like this Rolf Anna hinted at and a certain Duana. We'll meet them soon enough, across the next three or four chapters ;D

The next chapter is already being written (there will be a sneak peek for it on my Tumblr soon enough) and I'm hoping it won't be too long before the update. But let's keep our fingers crossed. It will bring us back to Frost Wood, so we can check up on Kristoff too!

As usual, if you have time and feel like it, do drop a little comment, they keep me going! Feedback's always nice =)

'Till next chapter! Love, _Clarisse_


	5. Trust Issues

**chapter four**  
**TRUST ISSUES**

* * *

[_Fylkesskog Forest – October 1522_]

Living in the woods was something Kristoff could have gotten used to. It wasn't too different from living on the slopes of the North Mountain after all: the meals consisted of what they were been able to hunt during the day and they were eaten around a big bonfire on the ground; the huts that made up the camp were small tree houses nestled into the oaks, built in order to form a ring-like structure a few meters above the ground; and there was a lot of work to be done – no ice harvesting, of course, but there was water to be carried from the river and food to be provided and prepared, there was the maintenance of the huts to take care of, there were the patrols around the forest to make. And all had to be done fairly quickly, since the days were growing shorter as winter crept closer and closer.

All of that, he could have gotten used to. What he really couldn't come to terms with instead, was the company. Those Merry Men – such a senseless name too, in his opinion: what was so merry about them _anyway_? – were such a pain.

First off, none of them was a good person: they were all thieves to begin with, and on top of that they were also people who had been banned from the Duchy for one reason or another, or had some kind of price on their heads… not exactly what he would have called trustworthy individuals. Which was probably why they were all using fake names in the first place.

Second of all, none of them seemed to be willing to let him escape – he had tried it twice already whenever his kidnapper, that Robin Hood girl, was away to run some errands, and never succeeded. He had given up on that by now: one of the Merry Men had noticed he was about to give it his third try and had told him that if he did make the attempt, they would have brought "his sorry head back to the camp, no body attached".

And then there was that stupid nickname. Not the "Little John" one that Robin had picked for him, which was already infamous enough, and which had generated quite a few jokes too, no. Another nickname, one the Merry Men had slapped on him as soon as Scarlet had announced he would have slept in the hut she shared with Robin to make sure he was closely watched. The fact that he would have been sleeping a hammock away from the only women of the camp had led them to nickname him _Toy Boy_. Someone had even suggested that Scarlet had insisted on taking him in only to have him around in her hut, an assumption that had embarrassed Kristoff to no end.

On top of all that, Robin Hood ignored him entirely – and yet she wouldn't let him go – and Scarlet kept calling him 'blondie' or 'pretty boy' – _seriously, those stupid nicknames were one worse than the other one_ – and being all snarky and sarcastic around him, clearly provoking him on purpose, which only fueled the Toy Boy thing.

Yeah, Kristoff hated the company. Which was why he was heading towards the stables. He had woken up alone – there were no real windows in the huts to keep out as much cold as possible, which meant the only way in and out was through the door, so Robin and Scarlet didn't need to watch him in there because he would have been spotted as soon as he stepped out of there anyway – only to find out there was nothing to do for him: the hunting party had left already and so had the group of those who had gone to get water; there was some maintenance to be done, but the current lack of hands and sentinels had scratched that possibility off the list too. But since the only Merry Man left to guard the camp was going to patrol the area of the stables, he had given him permission to go and take care of his horse. Kristoff had jumped at the chance: horses were definitely better than those people – well, of _all_ people in his opinion, actually.

The stables weren't found in the main camp itself, but they were close enough. And, he had to admit, they were amazingly camouflaged with the surrounding tall, thick undergrowth that made the spot so perfect for them.

That was something Kristoff had to give to those criminals: they were careful to the point of obsession. Even if they were in the very core of Frost Wood, they always had their guard up, making sure nothing could be spotted by chance, always covering their trails and erasing any trace of their passing. A part of him couldn't help but respect such unwavering zeal, and he hated himself for that – he didn't want to respect anything about them, left alone admire!

He stepped in the stables and slammed the door shut behind him, pausing for a moment to savor the familiar, distinct smell that crashed into him: the warm scent of hay, the powerful smell of horse, the stinging note of excrements that lingered in the air, even though the boxes were constantly cleaned. The lighting inside was better than in the huts, but it still took him a couple of seconds to adjust to the shadows that crowded the corners of the small wooden building. There were only four boxes – two of which were stacked with hay, even if he had no clue on where they got that. The only occupant lately had been his Dawn.

The creamy paleness of the mare's coat immediately caught his eye, as if it were the Moon cruising across the night sky.

«Hey girl.» he murmured, a broad grin finally stretching on his face when she neighed happily to greet him in return.

In that moment, Kristoff became aware of a low humming in the background. His smile already a memory, he crept closer… and at that very moment, Robin Hood herself danced into view, passing under Dawn's neck, a brush in her right hand. She was the source of the humming.

Spite stirred in his gut as his lips twisted in an angry grimace.

He didn't like seeing her there. He didn't like it at all. And not just because he resented her for keeping him trapped in that awful camp – even though that certainly affected his feelings considerably. He just didn't want her anywhere near Dawn.

Dawn was _his_. She had been her sole company and comfort for a long time and… now that presumptuous little outlaw was taking her from him. He wasn't allowed to take her out to stretch her legs and he was strictly forbidden to ride her – he was barely allowed in the stables, and even then there had to be one of the Merry Men around. And now he couldn't even tend to her because his kidnapper was doing it already.

That was too much.

«What is it that you think you're doing, exactly?» he blurted.

Robin Hood didn't even turn to face him; she simply stopped humming to answer him: «I just took her out for a little ride, and since everyone's out doing their share of work I decided to brush her myself.»

«How kind of you.» he remarked, bitter sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The girl simply smirked, not even bothering to hide her amusement – in fact, she had her hood down, which was unusual: she always kept it on around the Merry Men, removing it only in the privacy of her hut. «My, aren't you grumpy today. What's the matter, Little John? Does oversleeping make you cranky? You haven't even said hi.»

«Well neither have you.» Kristoff retorted, not even considering responding to any of her taunts. «Or are you going to tell me you didn't hear me coming in?»

«That would have been impossible, since you _delicately_ slammed the door shut. Besides, I have a good hearing. But you know that already, don't you?»

Oh, he did alright. He had discovered it while attempting his very first escape plan on the third night of his abduction – he had tried to sneak out of the hut and into the woods undetected thanks to the thick darkness that permeated Frost Wood. That had also been his very first _failed_ escape plan: he hadn't even made it to the door. As soon as his foot had made the boards of the floor squeak, a dagger had flown right past him to bury itself in the wooden wall only an inch away from his nose. He had looked to his right immediately, only to find Robin sitting up, her arm still extended, her eyes bright in the low, flickering light cast by the hut's hearth.

«You should know that there is more where that came from.» she had whispered. «And you should know that next time I won't aim at the wall.»

Caught redhanded, Kristoff had had no choice but to crawl back to his hammock, disconcerted: he could have sworn she had been sleeping.

Chasing that memory off his mind, he grumbled: «Oh, so you're not deaf, you're just rude.»

«And you're childish.» she retorted, rolling her eyes – he couldn't see her, but he knew she had. Then she stopped, tilting her head to one side and then to the other, as is pondering something. Caressing the mare's neck, she added: «Dawn is a fine animal. Fast and strong. You have been taking great care of her.»

Kristoff's eyebrows arched in disbelief.

"_Well, look at that, she's trying to be nice!_" the little, cheerful voice in his head exclaimed.

"_No,_" he corrected, his thoughts bitter. "_She's just pretending to make me stop acting like-_"

"_-such a big pain in the butt?_"

Kristoff chose to ignore that. «Yes, she is.» he replied addressing the girl instead, stepping closer to her, as he placed a hand on Dawn's neck… slapping Robin's away. «Good thing you didn't end up hurting her with that reckless shot of yours when you took us prisoners.»

This time he actually saw her roll her eyes – and quite theatrically too: she even grumbled, spinning her head around to face him. «I have _never_ put her in harm's way. I had aimed at her collar, and her collar I hit… and I only wanted to scratch it anyway, I knew the weight of the cart would have done the rest. It's not that I didn't hurt her because I got a lucky shot, I didn't hurt her because I didn't want to. I aimed at the collar, _only_ at the collar, and I didn't miss. I _never_ miss.»

Even in the dim light of the modest stables, Kristoff couldn't miss the reddish flush that was creeping up her neck: she was mad, he realized.

«And by the way, that collar sucked! A strap on her back sewn to to another longer strap passing in front of her chest and tied to the cart? Do you know how bad that is for her?! Couldn't you just get her a proper Dutch collar at least?!»

This time, it was his temper's turn to flare. An angry snarl on his face, he took a step towards her and snarled: «No, I couldn't, because – guess what! – Dutch collars aren't _free_! I'm an ice harvester for crying out loud, not some fancy rich knight! Which still didn't stop you from stealing from me anyway. I lost my locket because of _you_!»

And that was when the strangest thing happened: the outlaw who had robbed him, knocked him out, kidnapped him and threatened him, now, in front of his furious demeanor, _recoiled_.

Stunned by surprise, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her, his brow creased as he wondered what in the world had just happened.

"_But I didn't mean to scare her…_" was all he could think, confused as he was by her reaction.

"_Right, because a big, tall, strong angry man yelling at you is always so reassuring, isn't it?_" when Kristoff didn't reply, the voice in his head went on: "_And it's likely that no one knows she's here. She just came back from a ride, remember? And she's the boss here, so she doesn't have to check in with anyone. Is it really that out of the blue?!_"

The blond man still didn't reply to his own thoughts: he was still staring at the – now he saw that – young girl before him. She looked tense, nervous. Her back and shoulders were hunched slightly in a defensive stance, her fists were clenched, her eyes watched him, alert and sharp.

Moments passed without that any of them moved, and something within her seemed to relax: her back straightened and she didn't look that struck anymore. She was still worried and that was evident – her hands hadn't unclenched and her body still appeared to be ready to bolt – but it seemed that her mind was snapping out of the instinctive, terrified reaction she had slipped into.

"_She seems distressed, to say the least. Brother, don't do anything rush. And don't say anything. She looks like she's ready to beat the crap out of you, and we don't want you to be mashed into a pulp just because you couldn't keep your trap shut._"

But Kristoff didn't even get the chance to make things worse – or better – because Robin chose that very moment to snap at him.

«I won't say that I didn't want to rob you but the _Prince_ because I've said that already, but apparently it's a concept that can't get through your self-pitying skull.» she spat as she retrieved her quiver and her pouch from the ground, never turning her back on him. «So I'll say this instead: you're in luck, Dawn's hooves need to be cleaned. Get to work.»

Kristoff remained frozen on the spot until the slam of the stables door didn't snap him back to his senses. Sighing, he picked up a stool and let himself drop onto it.

He had not handled that one well. They had to share the hut, for Heaven's sake! Oh, she was so going to stab him out of alarm just because he had stirred in his sleep…

"_You know, we have to work on your people skills, brother_."

The young man sighed, a gloomy look in his brown eyes. «Shut up, Sven.»

* * *

Anna stormed out of the stables, kicking the door shut behind her.

That… that… _ugh_! That lumbering narcissistic son of a troll! How dared he act all tough and threatening in front of her?! Didn't he know who she was?! Well, no, not Lady Anna obviously, nobody knew who she _really_ was except for Raelyn… but didn't he know she was the one and only Robin freakin' Hood?!

Clearly the rumors about her hadn't reached the icy desolation where he lived – alone, probably, given that attitude of his!

She snorted, fuming, bitter outrage raging inside of her as she stomped through the woods, headed towards the core of their tree camp.

Just who in the world did he think he was?! He clearly thought he was better than her just because he wasn't a thief, but for some reason she had the feeling that he thought himself to be better than anyone. Ha! What a bigheaded fool! What gave him the presumptuousness to think so highly of himself anyway?!

She kicked a pile of fallen leaves, and angry grumble bubbling in her throat.

Oh, and what a fool she had been herself! Recoiling like a scared little puppy, Lord, what had gotten into her?! She had lowered her guard for an instant to try and be friendly, and what had she gotten out of it? Aggressiveness.

To make it worse, she had been taken so aback by it that she had actually felt in danger for a moment, which had prompted her to react the way she had. And that was _not_ good, oh, that was so not good! As full of himself as he was, he was probably going to think he could have gained the upper hand against her out of sheer physical intimidation. Well, she needed to prove him wrong, and she needed to jump at the first chance to do so too: the sooner the better.

She nodded to herself without being aware of it – an instinctive gesture she tended to do once she had settled on a decision.

«Well, glad to see I'm not interrupting any deep ponderations of yours, Robin.»

Anna's gaze shot upwards, knowing exactly who to search for and where the owner of that strong, slightly raspy voice would have been – and there he was, perched on one of the lover branches of an oak.

He was a lean man, probably well past his thirties, with ash blond hair, steel gray eyes and a rebellious attitude that had earned him the cross-shaped scar on the right side of his face, along with the price of his head. He was also one of the Merry Men Anna actually trusted, for quite a number of reasons.

«Scarface.» she addressed him, a fond smile tugging at her lips. «Is there any good reason for you to act like a squirrel or are you just bored out of your mind?»

He barked a short laughter before jumping down of the tree, his knees apart and bent to absorb the impact against the soft earth.

«I bring news, actually.» he announced, clapping his hands together to rid his palms of the dirt and leaves. «We spotted a handful of knights guarding a carriage making their way through the woods. It bears the weasel's insignia. And it's carrying gold, if you ask me.»

_That_ got Anna's attention. «Gold, huh? What makes you think so? And-»

«Four guards, two behind it and two to its sides, and the coachman has a crossbow.» Scarface answered readily, anticipating her next question. «And given who's leading up front, we think the Weasel's sending home the gold he made dealing with the people in Arendelle.»

An eager smirk slowly dawned on Anna's face. «Morten.» she hissed, and when the Merry Man nodded she went on: «Looks like we found ourselves something to do for the day!»

Scarface barked a short laughter and grinned back, steel gray eyes glinting dangerously. «I knew you'd say that!»

The redhead accepted the pat on her shoulder with a giggle. «Where is the party now?»

«I spotted it a bit before the Toll Bridge. They're probably crossing it as we speak.»

«Good.» she nodded, falling silent as she pieced a plan together, her lips trembling as she rambled to herself under her breath. Then she nodded once more. «Okay. I want you to backtrack for a moment towards the river; you should meet the group that went to get water. Tell Oaken to come back to guard the camp and send Strider to check on the carriage. Then go look for the hunting party and tell Scarlet what you've told me. I'll go up ahead to set things up. We ambush them at the Hanging Tree.»

«Consider it done.» he replied with a sharp nod, so she began to turn away… only to freeze when she heard his voice calling her back, asking: «And what about Little John? You want me to lock him up somewhere?»

Not bothering to move, Anna considered her options for a moment, an idea quickly taking form among her thoughts. She squinted, eyes staring at nothing, but a smirk was already playing on her lips: that might have been the chance she needed.

«You know what? Let's bring him along. It's about time he sees what we're made of.» she finally said, looking at the Merry Man from above her shoulder. «And do feel free to threaten him if he dares to throw a tantrum.»

Scarface simply grinned back at her, mischief and anticipation glinting in his irises. «Your wish is my command, Robin!»

And then, in the blink of an eye, he hopped back on a low branch, then onto a higher one, until he disappeared into the thick tangle of fronds. The whisper of creaking bark was the only sign of his leaving.

Scanning the nearby trees with a quick glance, Anna chose an oak to climb as well and, in a couple of leaps, made her way up. Leaning against the trunk for balance, she cupped her palms at the sides of her mouth and hooted loudly three times, then whistled once.

Using the lower trees to get to the taller ones, she climbed her way up, higher and higher, moving towards the East, hooting and whistling in a pattern along the way.

Only when the forest responded in kind – twice – she allowed an excited smile to light up her face: they were coming.

Holding back no more, Anna headed for the Hanging Tree.

* * *

Kristoff was crouched so low, he could feel the undergrowth tickling his throat and chin. Uncomfortable, he brushed some leaves away, grunting.

«Quiet.» Robin hissed angrily, her lips barely moving, probably suppressing the urge to kick him.

She was kneeling next to him, her hood so low on her head it seemed like her voice was coming from the darkness that cloaked her features. Her bow was on the ground, close at hand, and the quiver on her hips was stacked with arrows.

Funny enough, none of those arrows was currently threatening him – something that had surprised him considerably, especially because she had insisted in wanting him next to her. And she had even handed him a knife!

He doubted it was a sign of trust – he was sure there was someone with an arrow pointed straight at him ready to handle any funny business for her, like Scarlet or the unpleasant man that had threatened to make quick work of him at the stables. And, well, to be honest he had considered burying that blade in Robin's shoulder or knee and just run for it… but knowing he would have never made it out of the woods alive, he had decided against it.

So he was crouched and _mostly _quiet like a good boy after having come along without hindering them and without being difficult, for once, even though nobody had bothered to tell him what they were going to do or where they were going. Now he knew they were going to ambush someone and they were at a place they called the 'Hanging Tree', but he still had no clue of who they were going to ambush or why that great big oak they had gathered around had been nicknamed that way. Not that he actually cared, of course, but he didn't like being the only one who didn't know what was going on.

A rhythmic thundering of hooves, accompanied by the constant crackling of leaves under quiet, well-oiled wheels echoed in the silent – too silent – forest, tearing through the blond man's thoughts.

He abruptly turned his head to his right, catching a glimpse of a brown hood performing the same motion with the corner of his eye. It took a few moments, but finally some dark shapes emerged from the misty, lush undergrowth.

The first silhouette he made out was that of a black-clad man, atop a gray fjord horse. His hair was black too, raven black, and they were elegantly combed back. He couldn't have been too tall, Kristoff guessed, but he seemed fit and he definitely had strong arms and broad shoulders.

Behind him rode four more men astride as many brown dun fjord horses. They wore dark clothes too – slate gray, he noticed as they came closer. Also, unlike the man up front, they all had their hair cut so short, is was almost impossible to make out the color.

These four individuals were in some sort of formation around a polished, lacquered carriage, pulled by two more horses and guided by a sixth person, sporting the same haircut of his four companions. He also had a crossbow resting under the bench on which he was sitting.

"_So it's one Captain, four knights and one armed coachman,_" Kristoff counted in his mind as the party passed his hiding place, unaware of having just entered a ring of ruthless thieves, things beginning to come together in his mind. "_They're guarding something this horde of criminals wants to take for themselves_."

Then, one of the riders flanking the carriage passed on, and the coach itself paraded right in front of him. And that was when his breath caught.

There was a coat of arms carved into the door of the carriage, the details painted in vivid colors. It depicted a white weasel – no, not a weasel, a ferret – that coiled onto itself against a black background, livened up on each side by some red ivy vines that stemmed from a golden crocus.

"_A nobleman,_" he realized, shock and horror making his eyes grow wide. "_They're about to rob a nobleman!_"

For a moment, he considered the idea of standing up to warn the guards of the trap that had been laid just for them, but he realized it wouldn't have done him any good: he would have been killed for sure in the following mayhem… that was, if Robin didn't realize what he was plotting to do to kill him as soon as he just barely tried to push himself to his feet. Tragically, his best option was to become an associate of those thieves.

He kept quiet as the guards rode past him.

As the carriage passed their hiding place, he saw Robin carefully crawl to her left and behind a tree, her movements so slow and smooth they made no sound. Once safely hidden by the trunk, she straightened calmly as she pulled a necklace out of her bodice: it was a simple leather cord with a pointy ice-blue crystal attached. She placed the gem out and under a ray of light that filtered from the lush fronds of the Hanging Tree repeatedly, as if following some kind of pattern. Then she closed her left fist around it and cradled it close to her chest, her eyes closed.

Just when the last rider entered the ring formed by the hidden outlaws, something began to happen.

A white light flashed briefly in the distance. Then another one shone, closer. Another one still, even closer. One seemed to glide right past the Captain's horse and the beast started slightly, shaking its head. The other mounts seemed to sense something and began to stir and neigh unhappily, to the point that the man halted their march, a gloved hand raised as he scanned the surroundings. The lights flashed by again, more and more, creeping closer and closer. Now the knights were nervous too – hands on hilts of swords and steel hissing in sheaths.

And then, as rapidly as they had come, the lights were gone. Everything seemed to hold its breath for a few heartbeats – horses, riders and outlaws alike – until the leaves began to whisper and rustle, the branches shaking and storming in a wind that_ wasn't blowing._

Kristoff shuddered, goosebumps spreading all over his arms, his hair standing in the back of his neck while a sudden chill seemed to take over the still air.

_Frost Wood was haunted, said the stories._

He had never believed them, deeming them nothing but made-up little tales to keep children out of the forest… but right there and then, his skepticism began to falter. And when the spirit appeared, he could do nothing but stare.

_It_ – whatever _it_ was – materialized out of the blue: one moment the road was empty, and one moment later _it_ was there, right in the middle of the path.

The horses stilled and fell silent.

The guards gasped.

The Captain squinted.

_It_ seemed human, but _it _couldn't have been: _it_ was too… white – and almost transparent too. _It_ was short also, and hunched as if in pain, _its_ hands clasped around something. Then _its_ head moved upwards as _it_ looked at the riders: _it _had no face, no hair. _It_ was just white.

For a moment Kristoff thought he could make out the shadow of two alien, hollow eyes… but then _it_ held out _its_ arms as _it_ stepped forward, and when the thing _it_ was holding – whatever that thing was – came into the light, it exploded into a flash so bright, it momentarily blinded everyone; even the Captain, who had appeared quite collected the whole time, had to raise a hand to shield his eyes.

When the shock passed, _it_ was gone. But lights were flashing up ahead.

Positively creeped out, the knights began to scramble, turning their horses around to backtrack and find a safer path through the forest… but they didn't go very far. They had made their mounts whirl only to find the road behind them blocked by a dark, hooded silhouette, bow in hand, blood red fletching dangling from a hip.

«Going somewhere, gentlemen?»

The scornful ring of the voice seemed to catalyze the Captain's attention. Then man spun, his face twisted in a feral grimace, his eyes sparkling with recognition and… excitement?

«Robin Hood.» he declared, a disturbing glint in his cold irises. «I dare say you are the one behind this display.»

Unimpressed entirely by the sarcasm in his voice, the outlaw grinned. «And I dare say, Captain Morten, that you brought a lot of fresh meat along. What's the matter? You couldn't find any more experienced soldiers willing to dance with my Candlelights?»

That name seemed to send a shiver down everyone's spines. Even Kristoff, who wasn't entirely sure of what they were talking about – even though he was positive he had heard the name before – couldn't help it.

A silent snarl formed on the Captain's face «A foolishness that will end once I've run you through!»

As sudden as lightning, the man dug his heels in his mount's sides, unsheathed sword in hand, and charged forward.

Robin Hood didn't even looked unnerved by the threat. She stood there, as if the horse wasn't about to run her over, her arms crossed in front of her. It was like she knew that no harm was going to come to her. Nonchalantly, she tugged at the string that kept the icy crystal around her neck, making the gem shine briefly in the light.

A breath later, the Captain's horse began to veer, shaking its head wildly, so wildly the man fell onto the beast's neck, a hand grabbing its mane for support. Of course, he could have just taken the reins to regain control… but he didn't, because he couldn't bear to drop his sword, not with his target so close…

Steadying himself in spite of his bucking mount, the Captain gripped his weapon tightly as he leaned to his right and slashed. The blade tore through the air, aiming straight for the bandit chief's neck.

But Robin knew her enemy would have done just that; and when he struck, she reacted accordingly. As soon as the man began the swinging motion, she ducked and rolled to her left, out of the reach of his double-edged sword. Metal glinted out of nowhere at her hip only to shoot up: the outlaw's dagger caught the reins as they flew by, cutting through them effortlessly, as through butter. Never stopping, she got back to her feet and spanked the horse's rear with the flat of her knife, unsettling it further.

The beast neighed sharply, distressed, and broke into a gallop that would have knocked its rider off the saddle, had he not managed to throw his arms around its neck. His sword clattered when it hit the ground.

«Have a safe ride home, Captain!» Robin called after him, her disguised voice overriding the clap of the hooves and the curses Morten shouted in his wake.

By the time the guards managed to recover from the shock of seeing the outlaw getting rid of their Captain so easily and to start reacting, their hands flying to their swords' hilts, they already had the Merry Men's steel at their throats.

Kristoff, not accustomed to their schemes and moves, was still crouching among the undergrowth, staring, mouth dangling open in disbelief at that display of coordination, stealth and cunning.

«Let go of your weapons now and raise your arms slowly, weasels. Nice and easy, so we don't have to kill anyone!» Scarlet barked, satisfaction dripping from her voice.

The soldiers obeyed… but not the coachman, who decided to take advantage of the outlaws' sense of security. He kicked the man in front of him in the chest to obtain a handful of precious seconds of freedom. In the blink of an eye he raised his crossbow, an arrow already loaded in place, and shot. The bolt flew straight for the bandit leader's head.

If such a move managed to surprise Robin, she didn't show it. She simply spun.

She became a blur and then, and a clash of wood against wood was heard. That same Weselton arrow suddenly reappeared, buried deep in the upper arm of the coachman himself.

As he shrieked out in pain, Kristoff's own, spontaneous cry of warning froze in his throat. _She had just caught the arrow in mid-flight to shoot it right back at him_, he realized, finding it hard to swallow. But he also realized there was no way he could have just walked away from her without having to deal with some kind of retaliation.

«Good shot, archer. Especially since you didn't have the time to aim properly.» Robin complimented the man, now crumpled against the carriage as she strutted closer. «Unfortunately for you, I did better. Search the carriage!»

Scarlet and another brown-haired man obeyed instantly, while the rest of the gang kept the guards at the tips of their weapons. As Kristoff began to move closer he could hear them gather satchels full of gold, inspecting carefully the walls of the carriage knocking on the wood for any secret compartment and slashing through the seats to make sure there was nothing hidden among the stuffing, to make sure that the Weasel, fearing a robbery, didn't decided to hide a few of his treasure away.

When the last coin purse was thrown on the pile of their loot, Robin smiled under her hood.

«Great. Now gentlemen, if you were so kind to get in the carriage, we'd be more than happy to say goodbye.»

The guards didn't really have a choice – not if they wanted to keep their lives, at least. One immediately climbed in, barely glancing at his weapon, lying on the leaf-covered ground. Two of them hopped on together, carrying the wounded coachman along. However, the fourth man refused to budge from his spot and stood there, apparently frozen solid, shivering.

«What's the matter, mate? You going to stand rooted there for good?» one of the Merry Men asked him, poking him with his dagger.

The man jumped, but didn't seem intentioned to go anywhere. «What's gonna happen to us?» he breathed out, his eyes wide with fear.

He was a young man, Kristoff realized now that he was close enough to notice. Past his twenties for sure – twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven. Maybe even with family.

Robin cocked her head to a side, actually paying attention to him. «I'm assuming the horses know the way to the border, if being lost in the forest while locked in a carriage is what you're worried about.»

«No, that's not it!» he snapped, his distress growing by the minute. «Yes, the horses know the way, we've rode down this road before. But how do I know we will get there? How do I know your Candlelights won't take us while we pass through?!» he was almost yelling, ghastly pale, as he pointed towards the unnatural lights that still occasional flashed in the distance, up ahead on the path the carriage was to take.

Robin didn't look affected by the man's outburst. «I've got it covered.» she said.

Her hand flew to her left, to the satchel that tied around her waist. She drew a white feather attached to a crystal bead, and she let her own ice blue pendant glide onto them as she chanted under her breath. She plucked an arrow from the quiver dangling from her right hip and secured the bead to the shaft, the feather a white streak among the crimson of the fletching. She then slammed the arrow on the carriage, its razor-sharp tip sinking a good inch into the wood of the bench.

She had been efficient, Kristoff realized, swift and precise: it wasn't the first time she performed that little ritual.

«There.» she declared, taking a step back and turning so that the man could look her in the face – well, in the thick shadows she had for a face, actually. «This will keep them away. Now, if you'd be so kind?» she offered, gesturing towards the carriage door.

The guard still looked uneasy, but he said no more and climbed in. Scarlet shut the door behind him and locked it. She then passed the keys to Robin, who slipped their ring around her arrow and nodded.

Bursting into smiles and laughter, the Merry Men slapped the carriage horses' rear to set them on their way again. Then they grabbed some of the money bags each, along with the four guards' horses to lead them along, and began to make their way towards the core of Frost Wood, barking jokes as they guffawed carelessly.

But Robin, he noticed, stayed a few steps behind, watching the carriage until it didn't disappear among the fronds of the forest. Only then she began to walk.

Kristoff realized this was his opening: he still had the knife she had handed to him before the ambush, and he had noticed from their argument she was a bit intimidated by his bulk…

He deliberately slowed down, putting some distance between himself and the outlaws, allowing her to catch up to him. As she passed him, he grabbed her arm tightly, pulling her back against him.

«Not a sound.» he warned her in a whisper, the tip of the knife pressing between her shoulder blades just enough to let her know it was there.

She kept quiet, kept walking slowly as if nothing was going on.

He swallowed nervously, nodded to himself. «Alright. Now we keep this up until your mates up ahead are too far to hear us, and then I'm leaving. You won't come after me – none of you will – and I'll bring all of your secrets to my grave. You can keep Dawn, but you'll have to leave me be. Okay?» since she gave no sign of hearing him, he added: «Nod if you understand.»

And she nodded indeed – perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, because when her head came back up, her skull crashed mercilessly, and purposefully, against his nose.

The pain was unexpected and incapacitating. Kristoff let go of the dagger without even thinking about it to cup his hands around his bleeding nose and upper lip, cursing loudly. He didn't even have the time to reopen his eyes that a powerful kick behind his knees sent him crashing down on the ground, a gush of red breaking free from his fingers and staining leaves and dirt.

He didn't even have the time to _think_ about how to get back up that he felt the pointy pressure of two knees against his back, forcing him to lay flat on the forest path. A small hand seized his hair and pulled his head up and backwards, the cold steel of her dagger kissing the bared skin of his throat.

«Let me say it once and for all, _Little_ John.» she hissed in his year, and he could feel her bangs brush his skin. «You _cannot_ leave now. You've seen me, my hideout, my Merry Men. What I'm doing here is far too important to take the risk of letting you go.»

Honestly, Kristoff didn't think a few robberies were _that_ important, but he was smart enough to keep quiet.

«I am sorry about your locket, okay? I didn't mean for any of this to happen and believe me, I'm not exactly thrilled about it either… but I gotta work with this. And if you don't stop trying to get away, I'll be forced to kill you. Are we clear now?»

«Yes.» he managed to spit out through his gritted teeth.

His surrender accepted, the pressure against his back vanished, and so did the dagger. She left him to pick himself up, without offering any helping hand; when he did, he saw the Merry Men standing in front of him.

«Told you she was going for the nose.» the dark-haired young man who had helped unloading the carriage said, elbowing the man with a scar on his face who was standing right next to him. «Pay up.»

Kristoff's cheeks burned red with shame. He lowered his gaze, trying to wipe his face clean with his sleeves.

«Give me the horses.» Robin barked, prickly. «I'll get them to the border to let them return to their stables. Scarlet, you get back to the camp. Usual routine. I'll be back when night falls.»

«Of course.» the blonde nodded, handing her the reins of the mounts she had been leading. «Heard the boss, guys? Let's keep moving!»

His eyes still locked downwards, Kristoff only heard the tingling of Robin's boots against the stirrup and the rustling of the leaves when the outlaws began to move. He actually jumped a little when someone threw an arm around his shoulders.

«Ah, don't dwell on it, mate.» it was the dark-haired man that had apparently gambled on his bleeding nose. Kristoff could feel his weight as he almost leaned on him – he wasn't quite as tall as he was. «We've al given had a try one way or the other, for one reason or the other. And we've all ended up in a similar fashion!»

«Listen to Strider, he would know.» one of the men ahead of them chuckled, not even bothering to turn around. «He dared try and steal from our own target. He got an arrow in his leg for that.»

«Well, I did know that ruffling Robin Hood's feathers didn't come without risks!» he retorted with a wink, only to whisper in Kristoff's ear: «…but I did think that all those rumors about her archery skills were much talk and little substance.»

The ice harvester was unable to hold back a sympathetic grimace.

«Ah, here we are.» Strider sighed when the camp's clearing came into view. «Let's go clean you up, shall we?»

Kristoff allowed him to lead him through the trees and ladders until they came to the tall, big, burly Merry Man who was keeping an eye on the camp… right next to a bucket of fresh water.

«Hey Oaken! Think we can have a cup?» the dark-haired man asked him smiling, slamming his hand on the blond's shoulder.

Oaken seemed to think so, because he plunged a tankard right in the bucket. «Here. What happened to you, Little John? You fell off a tree?»

He had quite the accent, Kristoff noticed: he said all his 'w' as 'v' and he slightly rolled his 'r' from time to time.

«Our reluctant mate here tried to run for it _again_.» Strider supplied with a smirk. «And Robin got… irritated.»

«Ah, I see!» the other man nodded. «So she went for the nose. Seems like I owe you then!»

Kristoff groaned as he splashed the fresh water on his face, scrubbing the blood stains out of his skin with the help of the sleeves and the hem of his shirt – he was going to have to wash that too. «So you all bet? Seriously?»

«Oh, yes.» Oaken nodded. «We all had different ideas on how she would have stopped you, of course. The most popular was the arrow to the need, immediately followed by the broken nose and suffocation with the means of a pillow.»

Kristoff couldn't tell if he was making fun of him or not. «And no one willing to bet on my success?»

Oaken cleared his throat and lowered his gaze, but Strider just laughed.

«Sorry mate, but we know our Robin. No one in his right mind would have thought you had a chance.» with a sigh, he walked up to him and patted his shoulder vigorously. «Like I said, don't dwell on it. Come, the others should have gotten the fire started by now, let's go sit by it. I'll fetch you some clothes too. You'll never get the blood and dirt out of this one.»

He had suspected that much.

The three men made their way towards the centre of the camp, where someone had indeed lit the bonfire and had apparently gone off somewhere after doing so, because there was no one else there. While Kristoff and Oaken sat down on the logs laid around it, Strider disappeared up the ladders only to return with a bundle of cloth in one hand. He tossed it to him: it was one of those forest green shirts they all wore.

«Here, that's one of the extras Scarface keeps.» the thief said, clearly referring to the unpleasant Merry Man with the cross-shaped scar on his face – Kristoff mentally kicked himself for not figuring _that _nickname out by himself. «He's taller than me, and he does have more or less my build, but he likes his shirts to be 'comfortably loose fitting'. I'd give you one of Lionheart's, but they all need to be mended. On you it might be a little tight, but it should fit.» he concluded as he dropped down on the improvised bench next to him.

«And if it won't, I'll give you one of my own. Though that'll end up looking 'comfortably loose fitting' on you!» Oaken chimed in, an amused smile shining from underneath his thick, copper red mustache. «But don't worry, we'll get you some clothes your size soon.»

Kristoff couldn't stop the bitterness from twisting his face into a grimace. «You guys are sure she's not gonna let me go, are you?»

The two men shook their heads in unison, without the slightest hesitation.

The ice harvester sighed, not taking that to heart. Honestly, he couldn't really disagree with them, he mused as his eyes settled on the fire that raged happily in front of him. After all, he too had seen what Robin was able to do, and she had made it very clear: if he attempted to run again, she would have had to kill him. And he was positive that her arrow would have found her mark.

«Ah, don't look so disappointed, Little John!» Strider cheered, patting his shoulder – for, like, the _third_ time in an hour, Kristoff noticed with a bit of annoyance. «You'll like it here with us. And if you managed to stop glaring at everyone, you might even end up fitting in!»

His pride already wounded and sore, Kristoff had every intention to snap at the man, but the deer carcass that dropped right next to the trio successfully redirected his attention.

Upon seeing the dead animal so close to him, Strider reacted just like a cat: he – literally – jumped a foot into the air and quickly scrambled away, obviously tripping into the logs that surrounded the fire. He went down flat on his back, leaving some kind of strangled yelp in his wake.

Kristoff stared, eyes wide and mouth agape, when the man's head jerked back up, his brown locks all over the place – it was a rather comic sight, honestly.

«DAMMIT, REAPER!» he snapped, trying to get back to his feet. «WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!»

The man Strider had yelled at was a boulder of a man: he wasn't all that tall, but he had a bulk, and wide, strong shoulders to go with his evidently muscular arms. His face was… eerily unforgettable. Maybe because of his squared, prominent jaw, or maybe because of the lines on his face, which stood out like stark, ever present shadows on his face. He smirked, enhancing those lines even more – were they laugh lines, or scars? Kristoff couldn't tell.

«I see our princess still hasn't developed a hunter vibe.» Reaper teased as he clapped his hands together to shake off dirt and deer hair – had he been carrying that thing all by himself?!

As Strider managed to get back up, patting his clothes to rid himself of his share of dirt and leaves, he shot back: «You know, not everybody likes to be reminded of what our food looked like before it became food.»

«You're out of luck, then, princess.» the man sneered, wickedly amused by his fellow's discomfort. «It's your turn to cook tonight.»

The blood drained from Strider's face cheeks so rapidly, it was evident even in spite of the reddish light casted by the raging fire.

«Y-you mean… skin it and all?» he stuttered, eyes wide. «You're kidding! You know I don't have the stomach for… evisceration!»

Reaper just stood there, his face as indifferent as stone. «Like I said, you're out of luck. I did my share of hunting, Oaken cooked yesterday, and as you can see everyone else is out to get everything ready before nightfall. You could slack off and wait for someone to get back and let them do it, but it will be late and probably dark then… I doubt Robin would be happy about that…»

That veiled threat seemed ineffective, because Strider still refused to listen to reason. «Well, maybe I could wait just a moment longer…»

Needless to say, the two started arguing, Oaken's worried eyes darting back and forth between the two disputers.

Kristoff's lips twitched in a sarcastic, mirthless smirk: in that very moment, the Merry Men seemed everything but merry.

The argument wasn't getting out of hand or anything, to be honest, but it was more than enough to annoy an already grumpy Kristoff. His day had been hard enough already, and considering his own hunger the last thing he wanted was supper being delayed indefinitely because of a lazy imbecile and a picky idiot.

«How about you two shut up and tell me if you have any suitable knives I can use?» he barked, successfully getting their attention.

Strider immediately beamed warmly at him, while Reaper eyed him curiously. «You, Toy Boy? You can cook?»

Kristoff crossed his arms, but straightened his back and squared his shoulders, staring right at him. «It's Little John, you know.» he pointed out – anything was better than _Toy Boy_, really. «You can either give me the knives or, by the looks of it, go hungry.»

The man stared right back, an amused spark in his cold eyes. «Didn't you hear him, princess?» he called, never taking his eyes off the mountain man. «Go get him Chef's stuff. I spent the whole day tracking this beauty, I don't want him to butcher it because of a blunt blade.»

Not needing to hear that twice, the brown-haired thief was already scrambling for the ladder even before his companion was done speaking. Without another word, Reaper smirked and went to sit with his back against a tree, taking out a knife and starting to hone it.

Kristoff finally relaxed, turning to get a good look at the catch laid on the ground… but stumbled into Oaken's surprised eyes in the process. «What?»

«I didn't expect you to volunteer.» the ginger said simply.

He just shrugged. «If I have to stay here, I'd rather not starve, or risk some kind of food poisoning.»

The other man chuckled, as if that wasn't that unlikely after all. «I see. So you are a good cook?»

«I don't know what you mean by good, but I can hold my ground.» he said as he pulled the carcass of the deer closer to the fire in a rustle of leaves, determined to start working on it before it turned dark – and sunset wasn't that far off at all, since the days were growing shorter. «I used to watch my mother cook, and she liked to explain what she was doing and let me help. I live alone now, so I can cook for myself. Nothing fancy really, but good enough. For me at least.»

Oaken nodded gravely. «I'm sorry.»

Even if Kristoff understood what he was talking about, he said nothing, didn't even look up. It was common knowledge that life up in the mountains was tough: the work was hard, the freezing wind was sharp as wicked claws, the ice itself was mercilessly treacherous, and falling ill equaled a death sentence. He refused to add his own sob story to the countless ones the man already knew.

His heart ached when his fingers grasped the nothingness dangling from his neck.

«Alright, here are the knives.» Strider announced, carefully setting five knives down on the bench, one by one. «And I got you some dried herbs too, if you want to play around with the seasoning.»

Kristoff couldn't help but noticing he was looking everywhere but down at the deer. He bit back a chuckle.

…not that it would have been heard over the loud slap a hand made when it came crashing down on Strider's shoulder.

«I see you managed to shirk your share of cooking again, eh?» said a tall, muscular man, with a loud and booming voice.

«Dammit, Lionheart.» Strider wheezed – that friendly pat had knocked the wind out of him.

Everybody giggled, and Kristoff took the opportunity to get a good look at the new guy while he sharpened the knives – judging from the holes in his clothing, this was the Merry Man who _could_ have lent him a shirt… but, judging from the state of his current one, he would have needed any spare for himself. They were about the same size though, he would give Strider that much. Perhaps Lionheart was a bit taller than him, though not as big… but they definitely shared a build. He didn't look like that bad of a guy, with those laughing eyes and contagious smile.

Well to be honest, now that he was actually looking at his companions, surprisingly he wasn't the only one of those thieves that gave off a good vibe – Oaken and Strider did, too. He wondered how that was possible, but kept his questions to himself while he began to work on the deer.

As soon as he heard the blade beginning to slice open fur and flesh, Strider paled. «I'm, uh… I'm gonna go do… something. I'll be back when that thing looks a bit less like its, uh… dead self. Oh, and I'll bring pans back with me.»

And just like that, he hurried towards his hut, leaving thin snapped twigs in his wake. Lionheart just shook his head chuckling, and plopped down on the log at Kristoff's left, right in front of Oaken.

«That one can't stand the sight of a catch, I tell you. I have no idea how he managed to survive in the woods before Robin took him in. So you're the new recruit, eh? I'm Lionheart.»

«Little John.» Kristoff replied, nodding to him in greeting since his hands were… kind of busy. «What do you mean with 'when Robin took him in'? Didn't he start out with her?»

The man scratched his chin, a hint of dark blond beard growing there. «Well, you could say that none of us really started with Robin. She just… showed up here one day, with her hood on and Scarlet watching her back. But Scarlet has been around the woods before Robin came along, so no, none of us started out with her. We all joined her though, for one reason or another.»

Kristoff couldn't help but frown. «Such as?»

Lionheart smiled at him, but kept quiet. It was Oaken who answered him instead. «We prefer to keep our reasons to ourselves, like our names. For protection.» he explained. Kristoff wasn't sure what to make of that, and his distrust must have shown on his face because the outlaw added, in that funny accent of his: «That way it will be easier to go back to our lives when this ends. And there are a few things we do know of one another, of course.»

«Oh, absolutely!» Lionheart chimed in. «Take Strider, for instance. We might not know who he actually is or why he started thieving, but we know that at some point he began robbing noblemen left and right. You could say he was… Robin's competition. Only while Robin is very careful with who we are to ambush, Strider didn't seem to discriminate, and we couldn't have that: it could have made the wrong people mad. Then one day we prepare an ambush and guess who jumps in almost ruining the whole plan? Robin put an arrow through his calf with no regret – and he knows he deserved it, so feel free to tease the hell out of him.» he noted with a wink. «Anyway, after the deed was done we went to pick him up and we explained him what we were working for. Clearly our goals aligned, because he decided to join in.»

Kristoff didn't lose his frown. He didn't look up, he kept working on the meat – which was quite ready to be cooked now, so he cleaned his hand in his already filthy shirt – but he couldn't help chewing on his lip, puzzled. Just what the hell was going on there? Thieves robbing only certain aristocrats, working together to achieve some kind of goal… thieves who weren't only thieves, who had lives they wanted to return to? Something definitely didn't add up.

He imperceptibly shook his head, trying to chase those questions off his mind. He shouldn't have been wondering, he really shouldn't have. He wanted to keep his distance, to avoid getting tangled into this mess. But at the same time, he couldn't help but feeling his curiosity swell.

"_Well, we're stuck here no matter what._" Sven's voice whispered between his thoughts. "_Might as well find out more about this… well, whatever this is._"

That was definitely a point Kristoff couldn't deny. But before he could ask anything, a strong voice remarked: «Looks like we finally found a good use for you, blondie!»

Scarlet marched in, as tall and proud as always. However, as she approached the bonfire, Kristoff could see some sort of happier, more satisfied expression on her face than the one she usually reserved for him. But that might have been only the flickering nature of the firelight, or the softer light cast by the setting Sun.

That twinkle still in her coal black irises, she reclined her head and barked: «Strider! Get your picky ass down here and bring some pans, before we decide to eat those cuts raw!»

A series of thumps and clangs told Kristoff that Strider had probably decided to take a nap while he waited for the dinner to look 'less like its dead self'. «COMING!»

Scarlet just rolled her eyes, then turned her back on the impromptu cook and went to sit next to one of the ladders, Scarface instinctively positioning himself behind her, at her right.

«So what's his story?» Kristoff asked with a muffled voice as he nodded towards him.

«Hm? Scarface?» Lionheart just shrugged. «We don't really know. I guess Robin just showed up with him one day, much like it happened with Oaken, and with you, and with a few others. He's a great fighter, he taught all our less experienced recruits how to fight.» Oaken chuckled self-consciously, but the other man just grinned. «He could be either a mercenary, or a former castle guard. Definitely had some military training. I mean, have you seen his stance?»

The mountain man nodded in agreement. He had see then man move around camp, observing the way he did everything with calculated, efficient and measured movements, his back as straight as it could be.

«There is one we know all about, though.» Strider cut in, his arms overflowing with pots and pans and cooking sticks, tilting his head towards the boulder man.

«Reaper.» Oaken supplied, quickly grabbing some of the pans to warm them up under the glowing coals while Lionheart tried to set up the cooking spit. «He is a murderer.»

Regardless of how close he was to the flames right there and then, Kristoff froze. «A mur…» his eyes darted towards Reaper, then quickly back to the ground. He swallowed. «I guess you're not talking about tonight's dinner.»

Lionheart sighed, that serious frown he wore looking so out of place on his usually cheerful face. «No, we aren't. Reaper is one of those criminals who joined us to get protection, not because they share our goals.»

"_There's safety in numbers._" Sven's voice whispered among his thoughts. "_Oh, we know all about that, don't we, brother?_"

«Robin took them in because we can't really afford any more enemies – we got plenty of those already – but she has very little patience with them.» the young man went on, rubbing the stubble on his chin. «She made it crystal clear from the beginning: one bad thing she didn't order happens, and she'll have them hunted down by the whole Frost Wood. And with the kind of support she's been getting from the people of the Duchy, nobody wants to test their luck. They're all on their best behavior.»

Thieves encouraged by villagers and merciless killers bowing to the mere threats of a young girl. Things just kept getting weirder and weirder… "_And not exactly reassuring either!_"

Kristoff fought back a sigh as he began to lay chunks of meat in the sizzling pans and run other morsels through with the sticks. «Wonderful. Anyone else I should be especially wary of?»

The three men exchanged an odd look, and Kristoff found himself dreading their answer.

«See that boy?» Oaken whispered, nodding towards one of the trees.

Kristoff hadn't notice him coming into the camp, but there he stood, hair and skin terribly pale, pasty white. He stood a step behind Reaper, and he was now sharpening another of the boulder man's knives. And apparently, just like a cat, he could tell when someone was watching him because his focus abandoned his work to stare right at Kristoff, whose breath caught: his eyes were a disturbing bright red. _Blood_ red.

He immediately dropped his gaze. «Who is _that_?» he murmured, stoking the fire to distract himself and pretend he hadn't been staring at him, and in a handful of seconds the pressure of that eerie gaze left his shoulders.

«He's Reaper's… um…» Strider stuttered, making sure to look at everything but at that boy. «…apprentice, I suppose? He follows him everywhere. We call him Ghost.»

A shiver ran down the blond man's spine: a fitting name indeed.

As the meat cooked, its rich and appetizing smell began to spread throughout the camp, luring the remaining Merry Men out of the shadows. Lionheart and Strider took it upon themselves to point out to Kristoff those he hadn't met yet, telling him about them.

«That one we call Magpie.» Strider said, pointing towards a man who, after getting his share of deer, went to sit down next to Reaper. «He's a very, very renown thief. I've met him myself a few times before joining Robin, he helped me out and taught me a couple of tricks too. He's not a _bad_ man, but…»

«But he can't help it: if he sees something he likes, he _has_ to steal it.» Lionheart completed with an experienced sigh. «Robin generally sends him out to raid houses, and he's great at it because she lets him keep a few trinkets if he brings back enough gold. But don't you ever show him anything you hold dear. You never know what could strike his fancy…»

Kristoff immediately thought of his locket, before remembering that was lost to him already.

«Indeed, don't.» said another young man as he helped himself with one of the seared cuts off the pan. He was lean, with sharp features and slick, jet black hair. «I showed him my lucky charm once and, sure as hell, I woke up without it. I'm Marten, by the way.»

«Little John.» Kristoff replied, accepting his hand. «I'm sorry about your charm.»

But the Merry Man just smiled and shrugged. «That's okay, I got it back. I told Robin about it, and Lionheart told her he had seen him take it.»

«Which wasn't true.» said outlaw pointed out with a wink that drove a scoff from Strider. He ignored him. «But we were certain it had been him. Plus, Marten is an old friend of mine. And I like to help my friends out.»

The two men shot each other a fond look. Then Marten resumed his little story. «Robin was absolutely livid, you know. I've never seen her _that_ angry. She marched up to Magpie and demanded my charm back. She looked so furious he didn't even try to lie his way out of it… and he doesn't even sleep here at the camp anymore, even though he's still one of us.»

Kristoff's head snapped up in disbelief. «He _what_?!»

«Yeah, no kidding. Robin scared the crap out of him. He doesn't want to risk upsetting her again, and since he can't help himself he chose to sleep 'away from temptation'. Apparently according to him, not even a Candlelight is as bad as an angry Robin.»

There was some sort of reverential fear in that sentence that would have given him goosebumps, hadn't his mind been focused on another pressing question. «No, I mean why can he sleep away from the camp! Aren't we all… stuck here?»

Lionheart and Marten eyed him confusedly, but Oaken just sighed. «Actually, Little John, no. _You_ are the one that is stuck here. Most of us can come and go as we please, and some of us actually spend a good share of our time out of the camp.»

«Yeah, like the Admiral.» Lionheart threw in. «He's the pirate of our group. He spends months robbing the royal ships, then retreats back here when the fjords freeze. You should see him and some of his crew soon enough.»

«Same goes for Chef.» Marten added. «He's Robin's eyes and ears throughout the Duchy, we don't really see much of him. Which is too bad, because he's an amazing cook. I'm pretty sure you're going to be filling this role in his place, because this is delicious.» and he bowed his head after holding a piece of meat up.

«And there are those who stay with us only from time to time, generally never during the winter – it gets wicked cold in here and it tends to bother… well, everyone who doesn't have any other place to go to.» Strider supplied, his brown eyes turned to the sky. «Like Horseman.»

«But why can't _I_ leave?!» Kristoff growled, fists clenched, face twisted in indignation. He didn't realized he had jumped to his feet until he noticed that everyone in the camp was staring at him, alert and silent as a grave. Scarlet was weighing him with those burning eyes of hers. He slowly returned to a seat, muttering insults and curses along the way, eyes downcast. After a few moments, when the camp was again filled with chatter, he mumbled: «Why am I the only one who can't leave?»

«Because you are one we can't trust at all.» Oaken said, his voice oddly devoid of his usual cheerfulness. «You don't want to be here.»

Kristoff couldn't help but snap at him. «Oh, and here I thought I hadn't made myself clear on that part. Thanks for stating the obvious.» he regretted is immediately, though, when he caught his gentle eyes hardening for a moment: no matter how big he was, the copper-haired outlaw was bigger. It would have been so easy for him to lift him up and throw him into the woods, maybe even yelling a 'bye bye!' in that high-pitched accent of his. He swallowed.

«You don't get it.» Marten cut in, successfully breaking the tension between the two men. «You're not here for protection, which means there's no price on your head or anything. You don't believe in our cause, which means you're not interested in helping us either. And to us, that makes you dangerous.»

«Even more than Reaper, you know.» Strider added with a smile, but something in the way his lip curled told him he wasn't lying.

«At least we know he won't sell us out, the guards will kill him on sight if he goes anywhere near them.» Lionheart explained as he casually moved the empty pans away from the embers. «And we don't have any problem with those who stand with us by choice, we know they would never betray Robin since their lives and their families' depend on her.»

Kristoff didn't utter a word in reply, to anything they had pointed out. He fiddled with the spit instead, stubbornly stoked the fire. It glowed brighter, he noticed: darkness was falling.

Oaken shook his head and frowned at him. Then stood up. «I'll go deal with what's left of this carcass now. Maybe you could tell him what it is we actually do. I don't think it's all that clear to him.»

Again, Kristoff kept quiet – but his pride did wince when he realized the outlaw wasn't so far from the truth, as Sven decided to stress with a snort of laughter.

«I do know what it is you do.» he retorted once Oaken was out of earshot, stubbornness dripping from his voice. «You're outlaws, you're thieves. You steal.»

His statement meant to have the Merry Men cower in shame, so that they would have been as miserable as his wounded pride was. It became clear to him he had missed his mark entirely when they began to giggle and chuckle, obviously amused. He sulked, but they didn't seem to notice since their mirth was still on their faces when they addressed him.

«Well, you're not completely wrong. But you see, we are… special thieves.» Strider told him, eyeing his companions cheerfully.

After a brief laughter, Marten added: «Our 'job', if you wanna call it a job, is to take from the rich…»

«…to give to the poor!» Lionheart completed, raising his water-filled tankard. His friends responded in kind.

Kristoff's eyebrows arched so high in disbelief, they disappeared under his messy, ash-blond hair. «You what?» he asked, his voice flat.

«I know, right? Shocker!» the lean outlaw chuckled as he brushed his jet black hair out of his eyes. «All we steal from those greedy aristocrats, we hand out to the people in the towns and villages of the Duchy.»

The ice harvester pinched his nose, confused. _That didn't make any sense_. «Hang on. You mean to tell me that some of you guys abandoned your lives to craft yourselves some fake identities and come live here in Frost Wood, ambush and rob the nobility passing through… for nothing?»

The mood of the three sobered, almost instantly, making him regret his words.

Sven sighed in his mind: "_We _really_ need to work on your people skills._"

«I'm sorry, that's not what I… let me rephrase that.» he quickly added, rubbing the back of his neck as the Merry Men expectantly stared a whole through his forehead. «It's just, that's quite unusual… thief, uh, behavior. Not that I have much experience with thieves, but––»

Marten raised a hand, effectively cutting him off. «I suppose you have spent a great deal of time up in the mountains, haven't you, Little John?»

Thrown off by that apparently off-topic question, it took him a moment to piece together an answer. «Yeah, I work up there. Lived near the glacier my whole life.»

The outlaw nodded. «So I guess you don't really know much about politics.»

«Definitely not.» he confirmed, brow still furrowed and golden-brown eyes squinting. «All I know is that there must have been some kind of crisis lately because now we use the King's seal to get around, not the Duchess'. I thought it was because the Prince was put in charge to deal with the… uh… increase in thefts?»

«You got the timeline all wrong, mate.» Strider interjected with a lopsided smirk. «The increase in theft, as you called it, happened _because_ the Prince took charge.»

That did nothing to untangle Kristoff's confusion.

«I'll spare you the complicated details…» Marten resumed, seeing clearly that the discussion wasn't going anywhere. «From what we've gathered, the Prince came for a ball and for some reason prolonged his stay. Everyone suspected a romantic interest of course, that sort of things always happens: the palace courts need a good scandal to gossip about every now and then. Only at some point, a young Lady disappeared.»

«And not just any young Lady.» Lionheart threw in excitedly – he never got tired of that story. «But the Duchess' younger sister herself, Lady Anna.»

The name meant nothing to Kristoff, but he did understand the delicacy of the situation, so he nodded.

«Apparently she was kidnapped, according to the Prince.» Marten continued. «He then blamed it on Robin Hood. But the thing is, we know for a fact that Robin didn't begin her… activities until months later. She's not keeping anyone captive and we never kidnapped anyone.»

«So the Prince lied?» Kristoff breathed, captivated. It seemed such an absurd story, but the couldn't help himself.

«He lied indeed. But we…» and here Strider lifted his chin to point at the camp itself. «…we know better. The real story. The plot Robin managed to uncover.»

The other Merry Men nodded gravely, looking warily at the night that had closed in around them. Frost Wood was dead quiet, as if the forest itself was listening in.

«Lady Anna was never kidnapped.» Marten murmured, the dark look in his eyes enhanced in the firelight. «She ran away, all by herself. She had found out that the Prince was up to something… something bad. She was desperate to get away from him.»

"_I still don't understand how that has anything to do with us._" Sven snorted, but for the first time in forever, Kristoff didn't hear him.

«Wh-what happened? What happened to her?» he asked instead, hanging on Marten's evert word.

«She fell into the river as she tried to make it to the woods.» the outlaw pursed his lips and swallowed. «The water was too cold. She never made it out.»

Kristoff's blood ran cold, and ice encased his thoughts.

He knew what water could do there in Arendelle – _drown you freeze you_ – oh, he knew very well. He felt a wave of sorrow crash into him when he pictured the horrible death the river had reserved to that poor girl – _father mother_\- She had been horribly young, he realized – _even younger than mother when she fell_\- She must have been so scared out there all alone – _at least mother had father _– as she realized she would have not made it out – _the water the water is everywhere no air can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe_\- Or maybe she had made it out only to be seized by the night's cold – _so cold such cold white skin blue lips was she hurt was there blood blood in her hair red on white her skin so white_\- He found himself unable to breathe – _can't breathe can't breathe the water the cold can't breathe_ – the camp's noises suddenly muffled, as if they came from farther away – _muffled noise too much water the water the water _– even though he was right there, in front of a bonfire that wasn't warming him that much anymore as he sat still – _still perfectly still so still so cold lips so blue skin so white snow white ice white the ice the ice the ice so _cold-

**_-crack._**

Kristoff started when one of the logs in the fire crumbled loudly, embers glaring and sparks flying. He found himself out of breath, and confused, but now he could feel the flame's warmth.

His eyes still slightly unfocused, struggling to get back to reality, he cleared his throat and asked: «So she… she's dead?» three nods were his answer. «But the- ho-»

«How do we know this story?» Lionheart finished for him. His voice was deeper than the others', and right there and then it sounded like an echo rising from hollow, unfathomable depths. «Are you familiar with the Candlelights, Little John?»

Kristoff had been mulling over that name the whole day, and he finally remembered what it was: the Candlelights were a children story – they were ghosts that came out at night to kidnap the toddlers who wouldn't listen to their mothers when they called them in after dark. But he had heard that name spoken time and time again during his stay with the thieves, ultimately by the soldiers they had ambushed earlier… and it had always been spoken with an air of reverent terror. None of that seemed to fit the bedtime story his mother had told him time and time again.

So he settled for a simple: «They're ghosts, right?»

«Ja.» Lionheart nodded. «They are what's left of those that froze to death. And it seems they like to gather here, in this very forest.»

"_Frost Wood_" was the whisper that crept in his mind, and Kristoff shivered.

«They're vengeful spirits.» Strider added, instinctively shuffling closer to the fire. «If a traveler is unlucky enough to come across them, they will ambush them. Because of how they died, they long for warmth. So they lure their victims close, generally taking the shape of a fair maiden-»

«Or a lost child.» Marten threw in.

And Lionheart also added: «Or an injured animal.»

Strider didn't seem to mind the interruptions. «-and then, once they're close, they attack!» Kristoff jumped slightly when he smacked his right fist in his own left palm. «They cling to their victim and go for their warm, pulsing life force and they take it for themselves. The victim dies on the spot and they join the spirits' ranks. They say that when they inspect the bodies found in the woods they look as if the cold took them, but their hearts… their hearts are frozen solid.»

Kristoff found himself unable to utter a single syllable. Was it him, or was the night growing colder? He swallowed and stoked the fire. He noticed that a pan with some leftover pieces of meat had been covered and set aside, and he suddenly realized that Robin had not returned. «You've been talking about a plot.» he murmured, wanting to take the discussion back to a more… earthly topic.

Strider nodded. «Yes. Turns out that the Prince had come to Arendelle to seize power, even if we still don't know why, exactly. That's what Robin tries to find out when she infiltrates the court's parties. The Prince managed to get control after deeming the Duchess unable to rule because of what happened to her little sister. Only in order to keep that control he needs the aristocracy's support, and in order to get it he stopped demanding taxes from them. Which means they became all the harsher for the regular folk. I know you probably haven't noticed up there in the mountains, but in the countryside things became unbearable in a matter of a few months.» he suddenly stopped and flashed a smile to someone who was coming closer.

Oaken, who had just reentered the camp, sat down in the spot his friends had cleared for him. He must have heard what they were talking about, because his face was dark and he said: «They burn the houses and the properties of the people who can't pay the taxes, you know.»

Lionheart nodded. «That's why we give everything out to the people. They can't survive by themselves, not with these taxes bleeding them dry – and it's not like they have much to begin with.»

Kristoff said nothing. He couldn't, not now that he was bringing to understand, to realize what was really behind the robberies and the ruses and the hoods.

«It's not all so bad though.» Marten added, trying to lift the gloom that seemed to take over the small circle of men. «Some of the nobles don't agree with the Prince and they want the Duchess back on her dais. That's why we're very careful with who we rob. We don't want to irritate them and risk their support to the Duchess. Robin keeps tabs on everyone thanks to her spies, and the villagers help out too. They're not happy with the Prince either.»

«How do you know all this?» Kristoff asked in disbelief: that was a whole lot of information, and a whole lot of _secret_ information at that. «How did _Robin_ find out about all of this?»

It was Marten who answered him. «We don't know why Robin came to the woods in the first place, but we think she was running away from an attack against her village. That's been happening often, the Prince's guards like to raid everything on their path when they're patrolling, especially in the countryside.» everybody nodded, and he went on: «She fell into a river along the way… the same river that was Lady Anna's grave.»

A shiver ran down the ice harvester's spine. «But Robin didn't die.»

«No, she didn't.» the lean Merry Men agreed with a strange, sad smile. «Because the impossible happened: a Candlelight saved her life.»

Kristoff felt as if a had clicked in his mind, the blinding light of knowledge allowing him to finally make out the puzzle that all the stories the outlaws had told them that night had contributed to create. He made the connection so quickly, it felt almost natural, obvious, as if he had known it all along… no matter how crazy it sounded, no matter how impossible it seemed.

"_The Prince's plot, the Candlelights being the remnants of those who had frozen to death, the murderous river being deprived of one victim, the thieves' mission to restore the Duchess' power… it all leads back to… to…_"

«_Anna_.»

A twig snapped loudly behind his back and Kristoff jumped a good foot in the air.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Well, I dare say this only took... forever.  
But hey, here is the new chapter for you! It would have been the perfect chapter to post for Halloween, but since I have the worst time rereading my own works, well, of course I didn't make it in time.  
Anyways, lots and lots of things in this chapter! We've met a lot of people and we heard a few creepy stories.  
As usual, please let me know how I did this time around. I'm particularly worried about the ghost story (because I don't have much experience with narrating them) and about the final stretch in which Kristoff starts to make sense of everything that has happenened to him and around him, because it makes sense to me, but does it make sense to you? If you have a minute to spare, please let me know!  
Hope you enjoyed!

_Clarisse_


	6. Silver Lining

**chapter five  
SILVER LINING**

* * *

[_Fylkesskog Forest – October 1522_]

Anna had always loved riding. It had always been a welcome occasion for her to escape the stuffy castle walls, a chance for her to be rid of all the tight corsets and tighter-lipped guards watching halls and hallways and gardens like hawks. She had always liked trotting gracefully until past Arendelle's city borders only to have her mount spring into a neck-breaking gallop as soon as she was off the main road. She had always been especially fond of the way the cold northern wind slammed into her chest for her sudden leap forward, sometimes ripping tufts of hair free from the constricting up-dos Gerda enjoyed to come up with when it came to style her hair.

Of course, that wasn't the sort of riding she was doing now. She wasn't close to Arendelle's castle, she wasn't riding Philip, and she wasn't playing tag with the castle staff urging their own horses onwards and faster just to keep up with her. There was no rush of wind either, because she had learned – the hard way – that you couldn't charge at full speed on a horse through _that_ kind of forest… and she had the bruises to prove it. Also, her hair wasn't there to be messed up by the wind because it was braided and pinned to her scalp in a bun that felt even tighter than any Gerda had ever come up with, and carefully hidden under her hood. Finally, the horses trotting behind her were riderless, their bridles tied to the saddle of the one Anna rode so that she could easily lead them back towards the fjord, where she knew they would have been able to find their own way back to the stables of Arendelle's castle.

Anna sighed deeply. She missed it. So much. The laughing, the running, the riding, the reading. Hell, she even missed the complaining – about Gerda's hair pulling as she combed, about having to sit _so_ still for _so _long, about the corsets being too tight. It seemed so petty, to have complained about such small, meaningless, shallow thing, she mused with an odd twitch of her lips. It had been in Frost Wood that she had found out how shimmering the golden bars of her palace cage had been. Before, if she fell in the river she could count on the hearth in her room, to the very least; but there had been no hearth when Raelyn and her friend had fished her out of the river, and she had come way too close to freezing to death for her likings.

* * *

_Regaining consciousness is painful. She would have never guessed as much._

_Awareness comes and goes, in waves, similarly to the waves that she sometimes feels lapping at her skin, cold as ice. Some other times it's the pain to her ankle, her side and her head that brings her back, but it quickly gets so intense it knocks her out again. At some point, it's the noise… not just the murmuring of the river – that's actually like a lullaby. Other noises. A rustle of leaves; the crunching of frosted grass and mud; voices. They seem so distant first, then ebb closer, like the tide. She lazily realizes she can't feel her body anymore – not her ankle, not her side, not her head. But she has a head, that much she's sure of, or she wouldn't be able to hear. And she knows she has a body because she does feel the cold. She strives to focus on the voices, to make out the words that at times grow indistinct again, to distract herself from the icy bite of the river._

_ «Rae- … -we-ve to do something.»_

_ «Wha- … -o you p-ose we do? Is sh- … -en gonna -ke it …?»_

_ «I don't k- … but—Wait, I th- … -e's awake now.»_

_ «He- … -ere. C- … -ear me? Can you hear me?»_

_ Anna realizes she has eyes – and that she can see – the moment she blinks the light frost away from her lashes; the world is a blur, enshrouded by haze._

_ «You know the riverbed isn't the best place to take a nap, don't you, sleeping beauty?»_

_ Oh, her ears are definitely working now. She can discern every single drop of sarcasm bleeding from that voice. She stirs._

_ «Come on, give me your hand.»_

_ It's another voice, she can tell that much now. Slender fingers wrap around her wrist. She squeezes the stranger's back._

_It takes her a while to recover from the icy cold that almost claimed her life. When she finally manages to get back on her own two feet, she starts to wonder about her saviors – two young women: one as shiny as midday, the other as deep as night; blonde the first, brunette the second; both dark-eyed, but differently, ebony and steel. They aren't really talking to her, but she often catches them whispering. And staring. At her. That worries her, like, a lot._

_The brunette is the more friendly of the two. She checks on her, makes sure she's keeping warm enough, brings her food and water, even attempts some smalltalk. She catches her name in one of the many, eavesdropped conversations: Duana._

_ The blonde takes much longer to warm up to her. She's alert, wary. She seems to dislike her, even though Anna has no idea why. All she knows is that her stares could burn a hole in her forehead. But she can tell she's doing it out of worry for the safety of her companion and herself, because with Duana she's often affectionate. Her name, which Anna overheard as well, is Raelyn._

* * *

It had taken Anna a couple of weeks to recover. Once she had been feeling well enough to stand the cold and to walk around without needing to stop every ten minutes or so to catch her breath, the two had asked her where she lived, to point her in the right direction and maybe even walk her close to home. That had been when Anna had fallen apart, breaking into tears, sobbing as the words came tumbling out of her as if she had no control over them – the Prince, his honeyed lies, his plot, her sister's shock and panic and disbelief and blindness, her flight, the pursuit, the river. _I can't go home_, she had realized as she hugged herself, shivering, cuddled up against the trunk of the oak she had crawled near to curl up against, _I don't have a home anymore_. Her two saviors hadn't offered any real comfort, but they had helped her back into the temporary shelter they had found for the three of them and had given her some space.

Anna had spent a handful of days crying her heart out, drifting in and out of sleep, barely eating. The girls had kept their distance, but sometimes, when Anna felt almost lucid, she could hear them arguing in hushed tones, fighting to keep her voices down. Once out of tears and with enough hours of sleep to last her for at least a month, Anna had crawled back out in the open, sitting down in front of the small bonfire and her saviors.

«I want to do something but I don't know where to start.» had been her first words to them in five days.

The two had exchanged a long look and had nodded. They would have helped her, at least for a while. And so her training had begun. They had taught her how to cope with a life in a forest in which almost everything was out to kill: how to lose and outsmart predators, both animal and human; how to find shelter and how to maintain it and when to abandon it; how to win a fight with fists and knife; how to lose herself among the crowd, how to single out the targets, how to coax things out of them, be it money or information.

The turning point had been when Duana had put her bow in Anna's hands. Archery was second nature to Anna, had always been. She had picked it up as a pass time when she was young and restless – yes, even more restless – while Elsa studied piano – because she never had the patience for piano. And she had loved it so much, she never stopped practicing it. It had gotten to the point where her parents had to arrange for proper lessons, even though it wasn't the ladylike activity they would have wanted her to be passionate about, because she wouldn't stop pestering the castle guards enjoying a break to get them to train her further – «_Teach me! Teach me! Teach me!»_

Anna smiled at the memory of the targets' core stuffed with her arrows and of Raelyn's face, with her mouth all but hanging open, as she stared at them. After that, even the blonde had begun to warm up to her and join her for training, teaching her how to move through the forest with the bow in hand, and she had slowly combined the movements she taught her to her archery techniques, coming up with the lethal acrobatics she was now able to pull off.

After a few months spent training and tracking every lead, Anna had finally found out what Hans had been doing: after taking control of the Duchy, painting Elsa as an emotional weak woman unable to think straight because of her grief in the process – and hearing her sister's carefully crafted and painfully maintained reputation sullied so easily had made her blood boil in a matter of seconds – he had begun raising the taxes, slowly but gradually… only for some reason, she had found out that none of the raises touched the nobles and the aristocrats; actually, they had been paying less and less amounts of gold and, ultimately, stopped paying altogether. Apparently, the Prince himself had been working to obtain that result for them.

«It's a political maneuver.» Duana had said to the embers the night they discussed Anna's discovery. «He wants the nobility and the aristocracy to support him, and this is his way to buy it.»

_Why _had been the first question that rang in Anna's mind, but the motives of the Prince had quickly fallen to the bottom of the list of more pressing worries: how much did Elsa know about this, was she on board with him? Was that why she had refused to side with her when she had told her of her suspicions? Was she protecting him? But even those questions had been drown out by the most vital concern: how were her people going to survive with all those taxes to pay and no aid from the aristocracy whatsoever?

«People are going to die for this.» Raelyn had hissed, many emotions flashing in her coal black irises.

«No, they won't. _I_ won't allow it.» she had spat.

From that night on, Anna had sunk deeper and deeper in the criminal undergrowth of Frost Wood and of the Duchy. Again, Raelyn and Duana had shown her the ropes – even though the arguments on Elsa's part in Hans' maneuvers had put a dent in their relationships – and kept on looking out for her, whispering her every trick to help her build a reputation for herself, so that the other outlaws would leave her very well alone. Funny enough, Hans himself had been a huge help on that front, with that crazy kidnapper story he had fed the people in order to justify her disappearance.

«He talked so much about this shadowy criminal, it'd be a shame not to give him one, don't you think?» she had suggested with a smile so sly and lovely it had made Raelyn proud.

So Robin Hood, the mysterious and heartless kidnapper of the Duchess' sister, who had managed to break into Arendelle castle and leave with his hostage entirely undetected, had materialized in Frost Wood, with the thieving girls to back him up – because yes, Duana and Raelyn also had quite the reputation among the criminals, thanks to lots of daring robberies in very fancy houses and lots of broken noses and arrows to the knees of nuisances who were cocky enough to pick fights with them. Or so they had said at least.

The Merry Men had almost created themselves on their own accord as the first weeks of 'taking from the rich to give to the poor'. No matter how hard she had tried, Anna had not been able to reach everyone, and with the increase in theft, Prince Hans' guards had been carrying out their duty as thoroughly as ever: those who didn't have the money to pay the taxes had had their homes ravaged to strip them of anything worth selling to 'extinguish their debt towards the Duchy'. This approach had made the people's indignation flare, but when they resisted, the guards only reacted with further violence, and homes had been burnt to the ground with the utmost disregard of what that would mean for the family, or the risk for the towns and villages, should the fire had spread. The resentment had bred among the people, and those who had reacted and had obtained a price on their heads inevitably drifted towards Frost Wood to find the mysterious Robin Hood, who had been so graciously robbing the noblemen blind only to keep the people of Arendelle afloat.

The influx of people willing to support her had caught Anna, Duana and Raelyn off guard and, even though not unwelcome, it had brought up some practical issues they had needed to deal with, and had required to come up with explanations for the many empty blanks regarding Robin Hood's identity. So the camp in the dangerous core of Frost Wood had been set up, and the legends surrounding Robin Hood had been spread.

Anna's thoughts were interrupted by the intensifying light: she was close to the edge of Frost Wood.

"_Yes, a truly tragic and fascinating story…_" she mused as she took the bridles of the other horses in hand and began leading them through the forest. "_The Duchess' sister drowns in a frozen river as she tries to flee the castle after discovering the Prince's wicked plot. Then her spirit saves a young woman on the run from the very same fate in the very same river, allowing her to live and to command Frost Wood's Candlelights, but only if she embarks on an underground crusade to stop and expose the Price's scheme. How touching._" she couldn't contain a smirk as she moved some thin, leafy branches out of her face. "_Definitely Duana's best ghost story so far._"

She could already see the titles: the ghost story of the mysterious Robin Hood, that terrified both nobles and countryfolk, that kept other outlaws from interfering or selling her to the authorities, and that kept her own allies in check, making sure they didn't get too comfortable or too close – or that they wouldn't get ideas about challenging her after finding out she wasn't a man… the only secret she hadn't been able to keep from the Merry Men in the camp. Indeed, that little rumor about her… otherworldliness was vital to her, for the eerie aura it projected had been protecting her and her associates much better than any suit of armor. It had also gotten extremely believable, complete with disturbing phenomena and strange apparitions and disappearances, thanks to Elsa's support – once things between them had been cleared up – and the help of a selected, trusted few among her men who knew almost the whole story, or something very close to the truth at least. In particular, the trick with the mirrors and the light they had employed that very day was particularly effective, and the theatrics with her crystal and all all but helped to strengthen the supernatural effect.

She tugged on the cord that kept the ice blue crystal around her neck, and as she kept pulling, another crystal dangled out of her corset and into the light: it was a warm yellow, and the legends had it that, if charged with the energy from a fireplace or a bonfire, it could be used as a diversion to get away with a beating heart from a Candlelight ambush. It was an old superstition, but to that day the locals who happened to travel through the forest still brought one along, for protection against the vengeful spirits – just in case. All of the Merry Men carried one, which she provided herself specifically to keep the ghost stories alive and make them feel real. Technically, she wasn't supposed to have one herself: she was supposed to command the Candlelights, to be safe from them, which is why the crystal she used was clear, cold and looked like a polished shard of ice. However, she still carried one, hanged on a longer cord and hidden in an inner pocket in her brown leather corset. Just in case.

The amber crystal shone like fire when the light of the dying day touched it, and Anna raised her gaze to meet the sunset head on.

The blazing Sun, a triumph of goldenrod and persimmon, hovered over the fjord, slowly sinking towards the sea. The waters shimmered beneath it and the darkening sky was tinted in soft hues of honeyed gold, soothing indigo and welcoming navy blue. The fjord was reflecting especially the shades of purple: a blend of mauve, thistle, pearly, purpureus, pansy, palatinate and periwinkle that surrounded the bright, rippling reflection of the fading Sun. The last light of the day shone on fair Arendelle, the sunbeams filtering through the rocks of the fjord in dramatic streaks, the slender towers of the snowy castle radiating an ivory halo all of their own.

Anna felt something tug at her heart, the familiar pull of homesickness calling her to the castle, its balconies and windows and pitched rooftops gleaming like spun silver with a platinum shine in that glorious sunset. Almost everything in that sight was calling her home, and she wanted to, _she wanted to go home_.

But she couldn't, she couldn't, not yet. Too much was at stake.

Tearing her eyes away from the radiant castle was almost physically painful, but necessary. She began leading the horses out of the treeline to set them on the path that left Fylkesskog Forest to head towards a bridge, which in turn led to a path that would have put them on their way to the city, and ultimately to the castle stables. The horses knew the way, of that she was sure. This wasn't the first carriage they ambushed, and none of the mounts had ever lost their way.

After rummaging through the bags attached to their saddles one last time – why leaving a potential useful item behind, after all? – she let them trot away, keeping her eyes on them until they passed the bridge and moved on, and they were no longer visible. She sighed, and lingered a moment to bask in the sunset a little longer: it was rare to get that kind of sunlight in the thicker area of the forest. The murmuring of the rushing river reached her ears.

She knew that river, she mused. It was the one in which she had fallen during her flight from the castle, three years past – oh, had it really been so long? No wonder she felt that homesick. She fought a bittersweet smile: and to think she had fallen into another river just a few weeks back, after robbing an ice harvester on his merry way to the castle to deliver ice for a ball. That stream was one of the tributaries of the river – which also had a number of sluggish, shallow effluents that crept into the forest, like the one in which Duana and Raelyn had found her that fateful night, years ago.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn't _that_ far from the river in which she and Little John had fallen. And she still had a bit of time before the light faded completely – though not too much. Perhaps… perhaps she could take a bit of a detour after all, to go and check the stream out. Who knew, maybe the young man's locket had gotten stuck in a root or had been washed on the bank or… something, and maybe she could find it. She would gladly return it to Little John, if that meant getting him to act like a civilized human being and not like the lumbering narcissistic son of a troll he was being. You know, just for a change. Oh, it would have been _so_ worth it…

She softly bit her lip as she considered her options, then decided that hey, it was worth a shot. Keeping herself close to the river – just in case the locket had made it that far and had gotten stuck between the rocks – she made her way East. She wasn't going to be long. And maybe the low light of the sunset would filter through the undergrowth and help her find it. Who knew. Maybe it was her lucky day.

* * *

Okay, so apparently it wasn't her lucky day after all. She had checked the waters and the banks of the main river and affluents alike, but no locket; she had inspected every root and low branch and submerged trunk, but no locket; she had searched every shallow, muddy pond that had formed at the edges of the stream, but no locket; she had observed every underwater rocky cluster, looking for the telltale gleam of silver, _but no locket_. And she was running out of light.

"_Damn, I was really looking forward for him to stop being such a jerk._" she grumbled to herself. She sighed, irritated, but something within her refused to accept defeat. There was still one place she had to go to: the spot where they had actually fallen in the river.

Honestly, it was more of a last resort than anything else: it was very unlikely that the locket hadn't been carried by the stream anywhere down its course, that the chain had caught somewhere right there and then. She had likely better chances to find it in the depths of the fjord than at the fallen tree-bridge… but searching the bottom of the fjord was something _way _out of her possibilities, while checking the dried branches of a mossy trunk wasn't.

So, Anna rolled her shoulders, squared them, and headed upstream. She wasn't far at all, so it took her only a handful of minutes to spot the fallen tree. It hadn't rolled down too far when they had tried to walk on it, she realized: the river grew wider only a dozen of feet down, so the trunk had slipped off the edges and sunk in the mud. Apparently, she and Little John had been lucky: instead of falling in in the shallow, rocky portions of the river, the rolling trunk had dropped them into a pool, with rushing, cold waters, but deep enough so that they hadn't been injured from hitting anything, really.

Yes, it could have been a lot worse, she mused as she crept through the undergrowth to circle the former natural bridge… and then she stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat, when she saw the figure crouched on the muddy bank – near the exact spot where she had dragged that big conceited blond hulk of a man after hauling him out of the water because apparently Mr. Grumpy Pants couldn't even swim. He was dipping a hand in the river and splashing his face, trying to get blood and crumbled leaves and splinters of branches and thorns out of his hair and beard. His black uniform was dusted with dirt and blades of grass, and the way he was turned made it impossible for her to spot the royal insignia sewn on his chest. Not that she needed it to identify him: she would have recognized the Captain's wicked face anywhere.

_Morten._

"_Okay okay okay, Anna, don't panic_" she scolded herself, focusing on taking deep, slow, _quiet_ breaths. "_You're okay. You're fine. He hasn't seen you yet. Just get away from here, slow and quiet and nice and easy, and you're good. Right? Right. You'll come back some other day for that stupid lo-OH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME._"

A curious expression had just passed on the Captain's face and he, under Anna's horrified eyes, had motioned towards the river to grab a handful of mud that, as the water trickled on it washing away the dirt, revealed itself it be a worn chain, from which dangled no other than a silver locket.

That _had _to be Little John's locket – for real, how many other silver lockets could you find buried in the banks of a river that ran deep in a deserted forest because the locals believed it haunted?! – and now it was in the hands of an enemy she _really _didn't want to tango with.

Oh, this was so _not_ her lucky day.

For a moment she hesitated, seriously considering her option of disappearing into the forest and let him take the damn thing. But… Little John was really attached to it, which meant it was a keepsake of some sort. Which meant that he could have put in the locket something personal… and what if there was a family picture in there? Would if Morten recognized Little John? Oh, he would so head straight for his relatives to torture them in public, using them to lure him out, and her in turn…

No, no no no no no, there was too much at stake. She had to get that locket and be done with it. Better safe than sorry after all. It's not like he had his sword anyway, he had dropped it when he had tried to slash her head off during her ambush of the weasel's carriage. True, he had two knives hidden in his clothing, but at least she knew about them – knew for a fact, unfortunately – and she could avoid them, should he decided to draw them. Right. She got this.

"_It'll be fine…_" she encouraged herself and, after yet another steadying breath, she began crawling through the undergrowth of the forest.

Rolf Morten, chief and favorite personal guard of Wesley Weselton, and assigned by him to Prince Hans to take care of all the not-so-legal business. Like hunting her down and silencing her before she could be actually captured, trialed, recognized, or whatever Elsa could have come up with to save her skin. He was almost certainly the only one among Hans' men who knew who she _actually _was, and he hadn't had bothered to hide the fact during their very first… meeting. Her hands still shook at the memory: Morten was a cruel man, a hunter who enjoyed toying with his prey just for the sake of blood – he had seen his share of it during the war, and discovered he couldn't see enough; his volatile behavior had got him kicked out of the army, but he had simply passed under Weselton's banner.

Lucky for her, and her men, Morten was just _horrible_ at avoiding traps. She was fairly sure that depended on his hunter's nature – he was used to hunting prey on the run, not someone who actually sought confrontation, planned ahead and forced him to stalk her deep in her own playground. If only, if only she could get close enough, she had a chance… she just had to hit him _real hard _on the head, grab the locket and run fo-

The Captain tensed suddenly, as if he had realized that something was off. Anna bit back a curse: she was positive she hadn't made any noise, but that horrible bloodhound hadn't gotten _that _good at what he did – as disgusting, reproachable and cruel as it was – because he had only been going after clumsy prey.

"_Well, I tried._"

Morten had merely begun to turn around when he felt the cold prickle of steel against his neck. He slowly raised his hands, keeping that curious locket he had just found between his thumb and index finger, trying to look behind him in a way that wouldn't drive whatever weapon was threatening him dee pinto his throat. When he realized it was an arrow pressing against his skin and his eyes locked on the dark green hood of his assailant, he smiled.

«Anna.»

The way he said her name always made her skin crawl. «There should at least be a 'Lady' in there, you know.»

«Ah, but what's the point of formalities when addressing a walking dead?» he retorted, and Anna knew full well this wasn't about her little cover ghost story: this was about him being sure he was going to kill her at some point.

She decided not to waste any time bantering – every second she spent indulging him was a second she risked getting distracted, and getting distracted meant she would have never walked away from him, ever. «The locket.»

He cocked an eyebrow at her, relaxed, as if they were bickering over a cup of tea and he hadn't her eyes and a nocked arrow trained on him. «And what, I wonder, is this small trinket to you?»

Instead of humoring him with an answer, she pulled her arrow back an inch. «Now.»

«How strange.» he commented, his eyes staring, studying, judging. «Isn't Robin Hood supposed to laugh in the face of danger?» his gaze sharpened all of a sudden. «You never act serious when you're in character. So this means…»

He was so fast, she managed to react only because she was expecting him to do _something_. He threw the locket in the air, thinking she would go after it, while a glinting dagger materialized almost out of nothing in his hand. He slashed at her, and he would have carved a nasty cut into her arm and shoulder, had she been just a second slower to step away from him. She retaliated by slamming her bow against him with enough force to make him stumble back and fall in the river.

Not wanting to miss that window of opportunity, she used the momentum of her own attack to fall back, grabbing a handful of pebbles along with the fallen locket as she rolled, her back against the ground, her body coiled so that when her feet hit the ground again, she bolted, darting for the trees, leaving the bloodhound to haul himself out of the ditch.

She hissed when she felt a slash of pain searing her calf – son of a troll, he had thrown one of his knives at her! – but refused to stop to inspect the damage: halting would have meant certain death. So she bit on her lip, teeth bared against the pain, and she jumped on a tree, leaping from fork to branch, from branch to branch, from tree to tree, nimble as a squirrel. Her outraged leg sent angry jolts of pain up her body, but she steeled herself and swallowed: she had no way to outrun him on the ground.

Feeling relatively safe for the moment, between the low chance of being spotted, her being out of his immediate reach – he couldn't climb and she knew it – and her being able to watch him from above, Anna decided to see what kind of damage his knife had done. She released her grip on the branch in front of her and leaned against the trunk of the tree she was on and glanced down: her pants had been ripped by the blade at the knee, but luckily his aim had been thrown off by his haste and her running, so the wound was only a superficial cut on her calf. It hurt but it wasn't serious, and it wasn't even bleeding too much, so as long as she cleaned it and bandaged it up she was going to be alr-

The soft thump of a dagger burying itself in the trunk of the tree in front of her broke through her thoughts, and the wicked glint of the blade held her horrified gaze for a handful of terrifying seconds.

"_Oh, lord,_" she thought, fear rippling through her body as she forced herself to keep her breath slow and as quiet as possible. "_He's watching the trees to figure out where I am._"

Probably, the rustle caused by the branch when she had let go of it to lean back had given her away. She had been so damn lucky that he thought she had gone forward instead of leaning back, or that knife would have totally found its mark, in her thigh.

How long, she wondered, until he figured out he had missed and decided to try the other tree, just to be sure? Did he even have another knife to throw? Probably, she knew of two of those hidden blades he kept on himself; assuming he had picked up the one that had scratched her leg, he had at least another one. Was it his last one, or wasn't it? If it wasn't, he was definitely going to take the risk and throw it. Would he take it even if it was? After all, it wouldn't have been so hard for him to dispose of her even with his bare hands.

Her mind raced as her thoughts swam, images of her falling on the soft moss of the forest floor, a dagger buried deep in her body, helpless as he crept near, smiling, his hands stretched into claws reaching for her, her neck…

Her heartbeat picked up as her breath turned shallow, precious seconds ticking by.

"_Snap out of it, Anna!_" she shook herself, fighting back the dread, the fear. She brought a hand to cover her mouth, both to make sure to keep her own breathing quiet and to make sure she still had control over her body. Her other hand flew to the pocket where she had stuffed the silver pendant, her fingers grasping one of the pebbles she had picked up by pure chance. She rolled it in her palm, aimed, and threw it.

Morten saw and heard a branch rustle a bit further away from the spot where he had thrown his knife. He didn't know if he had hit her, scratched her, or missed her entirely, but when another branch rustled further still, he knew he had at least got her moving.

Anna caught sight of him when he glided through the undergrowth, throwing her third pebble and sending it to hit a cluster of leaves past the second tree she had targeted.

"_It worked!_" she gloated, but triumph was short-lived: that trick wasn't going to fool him for much longer, not with her having to throw even further and with her stock of pebbles quickly depleting – she didn't have that many to begin with.

She _carefully_ climbed down to keep on the thicker, less-likely-to-rustle branches, and slowly began to steer in the opposite direction from where she had thrown her last stones – her accidental saving grace. Of course, she didn't head straight for the core of Frost Wood: she took a detour – and a detour of the detour, and a detour of the detour of the detour – to make sure she wasn't followed. She'd rather take her chances with the cold and the dark and the pain – though thankfully that rush of fear had turned the cut on her calf into a negligible discomfort – than risking another round with Morten. Honestly, she would have sooner chosen an encounter with a Candlelight over one with him any time. It scared her less.

When she felt safe enough to return to the tree-house camp, darkness had fallen already. As she drew near, striving not to limp – once the excitement had worked its way out of her body, the pain from her cut had returned with a vengeance – she realized that her Merry Men were still around the bonfire, telling stories to one another. Actually, telling _ghost stories_ to _Little John_… and not just _any_ ghost story, she smirked when she heard Marten's words – «Because the impossible happened: a Candlelight saved her life.»

She stifled a chuckle: well, she had had a long, hard and stressful day so far. She was due a bit of fun.

She crept closer to the bonfire, her whole body hidden by the deep shadows of the forest, her face and hair well concealed by her hood, then she brought her foot down on the undergrowth, hard… and sure enough, a twig snapped loudly under her boot. She watched in amusement as Little John jumped a good foot in the air.

«Jittery, aren't we? What's the matter, Little John?» she purred, her voice darker, as she always made it when addressing… well, basically anyone but Raelyn, Duana and Elsa.

The blond man spun around, though the disquiet in his eyes didn't leave even after he realized it was her. She couldn't help but be pleased at that: it meant that story still worked its charm. She smiled a smile that was more baring teeth than smiling. Everybody was quiet as a grave.

«You guys weren't doing anything you shouldn't be doing, were you?» she teased them, and some coughed to dissimulate the bit of a scare she had managed to give to them as well.

«Of course not, Robin.» grinned Strider, welcoming and sheepish as he had been since that arrow. «And look! He cooked!»

Now _that_ caused Anna's eyebrow to disappear under her bangs – not that they could notice anyway. «Did he now.» she let her gaze glide over each and every one of her men, and the outlaws closer to her could see the hint of a smile forming under her hood. «Well, Little John, I think we'll assign you to kitchen duties from now on. Your cooking seems to have drawn even our elusive Nightingale out of his nest.»

A few of the Merry Men whirled their heads around in disbelief, but it didn't surprise her: Nightingale knew how to literally make himself invisible; he liked to stay out of sight, barely within reach, keeping watch hidden among the branches of the big oak trees that surrounded their camp. It was pretty much the only one of her crew whose real identity was a mystery for her as well; normally she wouldn't have allowed him to join her on those terms, but he had seem so young and small and desperate when he had begged her to take him in… and after he confessed his story out of him, she hadn't had the heart to shoo him away.

Nightingale seemed to shrink when his name – or cover name, at least – was called out.

«We've saved you dinner, Robin.» Marten told her, gesturing to the covered pans – well, handles of the pans, since those were buried under the coals to keep the meat warm.

Anna's mouth watered under the darkness of her hood – it smelled _so good _– but she shook her head. «Thank you, but there was no need. Let Nightingale have my share.» then she waved towards Raelyn. «Scarlet, I'll have a word with you.»

The blonde outlaw nodded instantly; she bid everyone a quick goodnight with a wink and hurried to follow her up the steps of their treehouse – while Anna tried her best not to limp, counting on the lack of light to hide her injury.

* * *

Kristoff watched them as they disappeared through the branches, and finally let that grimace he had been hiding in Robin's presence show on his face.

Boy, had she given him a scare. And she had done it on purpose, he was positive.

He carefully removed the pan with the rest of their dinner from under the coals, carful not to burn himself, to hand its contents to the thin, hooded man that had stepped up to him. He nodded his thanks and then retreated to lean against one of the trees that supported the huts.

«So what's up with him?» he asked the outlaws he was slowly warming up to. «Why the hood? Is he some kind of undead too?»

Lionheart laughed, but it sounded hollow and bitter. «No, Nightingale isn't some sort of undead. But he _is_ a survivor.»

«He's our newest recruit, excluding you. He's been with us for a few months already.» Marten hissed. There was some kind of anger in his voice, Kristoff noticed, the same outrage that had resonated in Lionheart's hollow laughter; the man's hands were clenched, his knuckles quickly turning white. «He joined after an attack on his village. He had tried to step between the guards and his mother. Our friend Captain Morten was there, and he didn't exactly appreciated it, as you can imagine.»

Kristoff wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest, but Marten went on.

«He killed his mother in front of him, locked him in his house and set it on fire.»

«He never told us how he made it out of it alive.» Strider said, since Marten seemed too furious to continue. «We had heard of the fire, but when we went to check it out he wasn't there. All we know is that he showed up in the forest, calling out for Robin at the top of his lungs. She talked with him alone and decided to take him in.» He sighed. «He keeps his hood on all the time because, well, he didn't exactly made it out… unscathed.»

Kristoff immediately regretted his question and began to stare at the coals glowing in the stone circle they had set up.

Lionheart sighed too. «He doesn't really hang out with us. I guess that we're a little overbearing and… loud for him. He hasn't really gotten used to it yet. He generally comes down for the meals, grabs his share of food and runs back up on his trees.» He scratched the light stubble lining his chin. «This is the first time I've seen him staying down here. I guess your cooking is so good, he was hoping for left overs, or even a second helping.»

«It can't have been _that_ good.» Kristoff downplayed, blushing. «Robin didn't even want a bite.»

«Eh, don't take it personally. Robin never eats.» Marten explained, his face still dark. Clearly, something about Nightingale's story really made him mad. «We always set something aside for her, but she always refuses it. I've never seen her eat.»

"_Well of course she doesn't eat, she's, you know, dead!_" Sven's voice snickered among his thoughts, but Kristoff snorted inwardly at that. «But… that's really not possible, is it? She probably just eats somewhere else, maybe she's picky. Like, really picky. Come on, you guys can't really believe that… I mean… can you?»

The Merry Men assembled in front of the fire smirked when he stuttered.

«It's not something we've looked into.» Strider said simply with a shrug. «It's not that we're not curious, mind you. But… after what happened to Cat, we decided it was better to mind our own business.»

Sven sighed in his mind. "_I'm starting to think we'd better mind our own business too, brother…_"

«Cat?» he asked instead.

«Scarlet's former companion, and one of the best pickpockets of Frost Wood.» Lionheart supplied. «Not exactly the fun and friendly type, but she was quite the dish. I don't know how many times Don Juan tried to work his charm on her. Didn't work, and he got his ass handed to him when she finally snapped. It was hilarious!»

«Don Juan's our philanderer.» Strider interjected before he could even ask. «The man never stole anything, but he slept with so many married women, he ended up with a price on his head. Robin doesn't really trust him around us so he doesn't know where our camp is, but he's a great source of information and he always has a jiucy bit of gossip to tell Robin when she seeks him out. But don't ask me how he gets it because I _really _don't wanna think about it.»

Kristoff could agree with that. «So what happened to Cat?»

«Well, she was never really on board with what we did. She never really liked us and never bothered to pretend she did. I don't know how many times we overheard her fighting with Scarlet about them joining Robin in the first place.» Oaken told him. «One night she began ranting about how creepy Robin was and that she thought it was all an act, and that she was going to find out how she did it.»

«Too bad Robin wasn't far away and heard everything.» Lionheart continued. «It wasn't the first time something like that happened, but I think Robin was sick of it. She asked Cat to follow her to have a word with her.»

When nobody spoke for several minutes, Kristoff prompted: «And?»

«And that's it. We never saw her again.» Marten informed him nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing in the word; but his eyes were fixed on the darkening coals. «Robin came back with her fire crystal and never spoke of her again.»

Fire crystal? Kristoff ran a hand over his face: there really were too many missing pieces to that story. «What's a fire crystal?»

All the Merry Men around him pulled a string of lace out of their shirts: from each of these simple necklaces dangled a pointy crystal which glowed a warm orange in what little light the dying fire still gave off.

«They're supposed to be used as a diversion in case a Candlelight attacks.» Marten explained. «You charge it by letting it sit in front of a fire, and should you find yourself in danger of having your heart frozen solid in your chest, you take it out and throw it away from you. The Candlelights apparently go after it and you have the time to run. We all have one.» he seemed to think it over, and finally added: «Except for Robin. She has a blue one.»

«You know…» Strider's words were soft into his ear, when the outlaw leaned closer to him to whisper: «The cord of Cat's fire crystal was severed when Robin came back. And from that day, _something_ began to join us for some of our ambushes here in Frost Wood.»

Kristoff swallowed loudly, a shiver running down his spine. «S-something?»

«Well, do you have a name for that _thing_ that was there today when we attacked the Weasel's carriage?» the outlaw retorted, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"_Candlelight._" Sven answered in his mind. "_Oh God oh God oh God brother she did it she killed this Cat and turned her into a Candlelight! And you decided to go and threaten her, oh God we're _so_ dead!_"

Kristoff's mind swam. What they were saying to him didn't make any, any sense at all! Drowned fugitives brought back to life by a the vengeful spirit of a frozen-to-death Lady who had the power to command ghosts and even to create them out of those who crossed them? That… that wasn't possible, that just wasn't possible!

…was it?

He suddenly realized he didn't have a fire crystal. Robin hadn't given him one. He could feel the goosebumps crawl all over his arms.

But wait, he thought. Thinking back to his encounter with Robin had made him realized he knew something the rest of the outlaws probably didn't: he knew what Robin looked like.

And she _definitely_ didn't look like an undead.

"_Not that you've ever seen an undead…_" Sven interjected. _"…but yeah, they're probably not that pretty._"

"_Probably n- wait, what's that supposed to mean?_" he asked, taken aback, but the voice in his head didn't answer him.

So… had Cat been right? Was Robin Hood just an elaborate ruse? But… why? And what had happened to Cat then?

He shook his head and looked at the outlaws. With the fire almost out, it looked pretty dark, and he could barely make out their faces: they were all masked by shadows. «I don't understand. What does this mean?»

«It means…» said a deep, raspy voice right behind him. «That you can't just walk away from Robin Hood.»

Kristoff whirled around, a hand over his poor, hammering heart, and his eyes found the darker shadow that lined the old cross-shaped cut on Scarface's right temple.

Why was everyone trying to scare him to death that night?!

«Shouldn't you all be in bed already? Or at least keeping watch, _Strider_?» he scolded the group, without bothering to wait for them to say anything. «I want you all up at dawn tomorrow! Except…» his hand hovered in their direction, then pointed right at Kristoff. «except you. You take the breakfast shift, so I want you up an hour _before_ dawn. Scarlet will wake you up when her shift's over. And I'll be guarding the camp at that time, so you'd better not be late.»

«Y-yes, sir.» Kristoff chocked out: Scarface scared him to death alright.

He nodded, then walked back towards the stairs to the tree houses, hidden between the foliage and the darkness. «Good. Now off to your sleeping bags, everyone!»

The outlaws scrambled at his words, heading in the same direction – all but Strider, who stayed to take care of the bonfire and begin his watch. Kristoff followed them as they climbed to the huts, one by one. He hesitated in front of his own: would Robin be still awake? Would she be still mad for the escape attempt he had pulled that afternoon?

Well, he had no way to know. So he steeled himself and crawled in, only to find he didn't have anything to worry about: Robin and Scarlet were both asleep already.

He tried to get in his sleeping bag to follow their example, but he fought back a yelp when the palm of his hand was pricked by something cold and sharp. Squinting in the dark as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he made out the shapes of a pointy charm – so she had gotten him a fire crystal after all – and a round-

"_It can't be…_" he thought as his fingers traced the fine lines carved on the cold metal of the pendant.

It was.

He would have recognized those lines anywhere.

"_My locket._"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So, um... hi?  
It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry for leaving you hanging! Here's the new chapter, which is a continuation of the previous one. For next chapter, we'll move away from the forest and back to the castle, so stay tuned and enjoy this chapter in the meanwhile!  
And do let me know your thoughts ^.^


	7. The Pretender

**chapter six  
THE PRETENDER  
**

* * *

[_Arendelle – October 1522_]

The nights were dark in Arendelle at that time of year, Hans considered as he slowly walked the corridors of the castle, gazing out the tall glass windows that lined the walls. Night fell swiftly in that season, the shadows stretching long throughout the whole day, never really halting as they crept under bridges, in streets, down walls.

He had been in Arendelle for three years already, but that all-encompassing darkness, along with the blinding light of the summer season, never stopped striking him. It was different from the Danish landscapes he had grown up in… it was sharper, wilder: the Moon and the Sun seemed wrapped in a war all of their own for the dominion of the skies. It made him fall in love with that country over and over again.

He sighed as he strolled down the hallways, savoring the peace and the quiet, but his expression darkened immediately when he saw a blade of light stretching lazily across the wall. He stifled an exasperated groan.

"God, not this again…" he grimaced as he pushed open the door of the Duke's study.

Elsa, the renown Swan of Arendelle, was sitting on a comfortable couch next to the fireplace, pondering the chessboard laid before her. «Castle to F8.»

The black, chiseled tower slid across the board, stopping a square away from the black king, protecting him. Elsa always like to play with the black, he had noticed.

One of her attendants was sitting on the floor, her knees tucked under herself and her arms crossed on the table for her to lean on as she, too, stared at the chessboard. Her hand hovered on her white queen, brow furrowed as she tried to figure out her next move.

The Duchesse chuckled. «There's no need to be so distraught, my dear.»

«Lady Elsa?» Hans interrupted, startling the dark-haired maid so that she almost knocked down one of her pieces as she scrambled to her feet to bow to him; Elsa also stood and performed a shallow curtsy. «What are you doing here at this late hour?»

«Good evening, Your Highness.» the blonde young woman greeted him as she returned to her cushioned chair and her maid dropped back on the floor. «I am playing chess, as you can see.»

Oh, he could definitely see that. He bared his teeth at her, feigning a smile. «Wouldn't it be more appropriate if you played in your chambers? You and your maid would be a lot more comfortable.»

«I happen to like the study.» Elsa answered simply, pondering as she watched the chessboard. «This is my home, after all. Am I not allowed to go where I please?»

«That is not what I meant to say, Elsa.» he clarified, stepping closer to her chair and setting a hand against the wooden frame. Her attendant tucked a stray lock of ebony hair behind her ear while she moved the most powerful piece on the chessboard to capture a little white pawn sitting and taking the D3 square for itself. «I simply-»

«If you need to get something from the desk, go right ahead.» she cut him off, her attention for the chessboard alone. She moved her other castle to C3, in front of the white queen; clearly she didn't like the way it pointed at one of her bishops. «It doesn't bother me.»

Oh, but it bothered him, Hans thought as he fought back a grimace. More than a dozen of months ago, Elsa had started to be… difficult. She had started to attend every gathering and assembly organized, be it with aristocrats, ministers or ambassadors; she had been reading carefully every document he presented to her before approving it, which had forced him to go through the trouble of forging her signature a couple of times, and had very much hindered the advance of his plans; she had insisted on holding regular audiences with her people, which he was forced to attend as well because skipping them could have been terribly counterproductive for him. The audiences were particularly a headache to him, especially when she insisted on playing the part of the compassionate head of state and decided to take in all kinds of strays, like that annoying little happy-go-lucky page boy and the attendant she was playing chess against.

And that was another thing: she had taken this bothersome habit to play chess all the time, in the study. This had forced him to find another hiding place for all his dubious correspondence with some of the noblemen of the Duchy.

He so wished he could make her revert to that gullible, grief-crippled, helpless woman she had been after her sister's disappearance… to the point he had considered orchestrating some kind of incident to achieve that.

The white queen captured the black castle that had tried in vain to shield the bishop.

A shame he hadn't been able to find an appropriate target to make his move. Anna had been annoyingly elusive. He still hadn't located her hideout in the forest.

One of the Duchess' knights hopped onto H3, checking the enemy king.

But it was only a matter of time. He was going to find Anna and silence her before she could open her pretty little mouth and destroy everything he had worked for during those three years. He was going to subdue Elsa's little rebellion and take the control of the Duchy from her. She could play chess and have teas with the wives of the aristocrats all she wanted; he was going to have the last word.

«My Lady, you should go to bed. You are going to have your friends over tomorrow, you need your beauty sleep.» he patronized, snickering when the white queen captured the black knight, protecting the king. «After all, this is going very well for you, is it? I don't think you have many chances to win this without a queen of your own.»

Elsa didn't grace him with an answer, much less a look. Instead, she reached for her bishop, no longer endangered by the white queen thanks to the knight's sacrifice, and she moved it to C5.

Her attendant sighed and propped her chin on her hand. «I could move my queen into E3, but that would only delay the inevitable, wouldn't it?» her mistress' lips slipped into a smirk. The girl shook her head in defeat. «I really am no match for a player such as yourself, Your Grace.»

«Checkmate.» Elsa chirped happily.

Hans couldn't believe his eyes. Elsa may have been queenless, but her opponent lacked both castles, both bishops, and a knight. She had taken full advantage of that limited mobility and reach to maneuver her pieces to corner the enemy: she had trapped the white king between one of her bishops and one of her castles, cutting off every escape; the pieces the queen had captured – the other castle and that valiant knight that had threatened to check him – were nothing but baits, distractions to save the other bishop and give him the chance to win that war on her behalf.

«Think again, Prince Hans. As you can see, I have it all under control.» the Duchess chided sweetly. «You are kind to worry about my sleeping schedule, but I assure you, there is no need for your apprehension. Actually, shouldn't you be heading to bed? You are going to have to entertain my guests' husbands while we have tea together. You'll want to look your best.»

With no clever remark of his own to counter her suggestion to, basically, go and get his beauty sleep himself, Hans simply smiled and bid her good night. A hiss escaped his lips once was out of the study.

Elsa watched as the Prince shut the door behind him, and a satisfied smirk crept on her lips.

«Watch it, Elsa, your true colors are showing.» the girl in front of her warned playfully as she rearranged the pieces on the chessboard with quick fingers. «Though I have to admit, that was a very nice last word.»

«Thank you, Duana.» Elsa answered with a small nod of her head. «I know I shouldn't have gotten cocky… but he was begging for it.»

«No argument there!» Duana smiled, observing the order restored to the board, as if the war the chessmen had just fought never happened. «Still, we shouldn't make him feel like we're playing him. No matter how close we are.» She fell silent for a few seconds, and tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. «You okay?»

The Duchess nodded. «I'm fine. And I know we're almost there. What you found out the other day… that's the last piece of this puzzle. And knowing it is making me… impatient.»

«I know you miss Anna. You two will be together soon enough.» the young woman offered as comfort, and her friend visibly reveled in the thought. «But this would be the worst possible time to let our guard down.»

Elsa sighed. She was right, of course, she knew so. Hans had been growing more and more suspicious with every successful ambush and ball raid Anna had pulled off, which didn't bode well for her. Any misplaced word could make him feel like she knew he was up to something, and that could have pushed him to take… more drastic measures to protect himself and his secrets. It was clear that he wasn't completely certain of her cluelessness, as his not telling her about the ball had proven.

«Are you sure no one saw you?» she asked her, suddenly uneasy.

«Sneaking in and out of his room, you mean?» she replied as she toyed with her white king. «I'm sure. I was the cat of our merry gathering of outlaws after all. It wasn't hard to lose my creepy ugly tail, and I even went to the trouble of letting him 'find me' exactly where I had lost him.»

«How nice of you.» Elsa joked, earning a snort of laughter from the girl.

«Mhm. And fun too. You should have seen Gerda scolding him.» she told her. «But seriously, when this is over, make sure to tell your guards to look up every now and then while they patrol. No one ever looks up.» she looked lost in though, and her smile disappeared from her face completely when she added: «And you might want to keep Olaf closer to you though instead of letting him hang out with me. I've seen Morten tailing him as well.»

It took Elsa all of her self control not to screech and jump to her feet to storm to Hans' room and demand to keep his bloodhound away from that child. She didn't want that man anywhere close to Olaf. She could barely stand allowing him in the castle at all, and the only reasons she hadn't take official measures to keep him away from Duana were that it would have compromised both their covers and that she knew her friend could take care of herself – she was far quicker then him, and clearly smarter too. But Olaf was defenseless.

«Just keep him close to you and he'll be fine.» Duana told her as if she had read her mind, setting the white king down and picking up a black knight instead. «Hans isn't sure of what you know. He won't set Morten on your tail, he knows it could upset you to no end if you were to realize he had you followed. It'd be too risky and he knows it. He won't get that bold unless we give him a reason to.»

Elsa nodded, sighing as she leaned against her chair. «I'm worried, Duana.» she confessed, her teeth slightly sinking in her bottom lip. «We're getting close, and I'm afraid of what he would do, should he catch us.»

«He won't catch us.» Duana stated with no hesitation, moving from knight to bishop. «He makes the same mistake I make when I play: I rely too much on one, overpowered piece.» she left the chess pieces alone and set her eyes on Elsa, a reassuring look in her warm, steel grey irises. «As you've just proven, it's possible to win against that kind of set up. It just takes time, patience and cautiousness. We are a step in front of him. We've been ever since we joined forces.»

Elsa couldn't help but smile at the memory.

* * *

_The way through the forest is worn and bumpy, and Elsa feels like a ball bouncing all over the carriage. The roots of the trees that line the path creep all the way under the road, and every time the big wheels of the coach pass over one of them, they cause her to shake in a way that makes her back hurt, no matter how still she tries to sit. The dampness of the forest is also seeping in the cabin from every pore of the wood, and she can feel it cling to her hair. A good thing Elsa has never been one to mind the cold, or that already uncomfortable journey would be entirely unbearable._

_Her gaze wanders to the young woman curled up on the seat in front of her, fast asleep, and her face falls._

_Poor thing. Who knows when it was the last time she slept on something remotely soft as the cushioned seats of her coach. She looked so exhausted when she saw her in the streets, it's not hard for Elsa to believe that the bumps in the road don't even bother her._

_«A tragedy, truly.» A townswoman told her when she stopped in front of the form of the girl, huddled in a corner of the market place. «Her house was burned down by the Prince's tax collector. There is nothing we can do for her.»_

_But there is much Elsa can do for her, so she decided to take her in, and now she is sleeping soundly in the carriage, heading back to Arendelle. She could make her her attendant, or something along those lines, Elsa ponders as she slumps in her seat, realizing that keeping her back straight as a broom can only worsen the pain caused by the bumps. It will be refreshing to have someone around who won't mince words about the Prince, at least behind closed doors. She may become the way out she so craved, her eyes and ears outside of the castle._

_Recently Elsa has been trying to get out. Ever since she found out about the tax increases drafted by Hans, she has been insisting on taking trips to the village, to scout the country side and make sure her people aren't starving to death._

_What she has seen so far isn't reassuring, nor aren't the hateful stares the villagers shoot their way when they think she isn't looking. Of course, it is only natural: the increased taxes may bear the Prince's signature, but where is she? Why has she turned on them? Why isn't she stopping him, protecting them? What has become of her family's policies? Those questions must be raging through their minds._

_And she wishes to answer them, wishes to tell them that she hasn't abandoned them, that she's trying her best to stand up for them, that the Prince has bound her hands and stripped her of power for no apparent reason, and that she's trying to do what she can to break free and kick him out… but how to let them know without the Prince finding out what she thinks, what she knows? Would they even listen, believe her?_

_For the hundredth time only that day, she wishes for Anna. She misses her._

_Anna would know what to do. Anna has a way with people. She could tell them everything and she knows they'd believe her, for who could ever doubt the goodness of her heart? It shines right through her. Anna could do what she can't._

_"Oh, Anna."_

_She's so worried about her. The man Hans gave control of the guards… she doesn't like him. The head of her guards, Captain Rafe, doesn't like him either, but there was nothing he could do when the Prince ordered this man to replace him. He looks like a hunter, he had muttered to her one time he met her in the hallways, pleading her to do something about it. But Elsa's objections were as useless as his own._

_«It's for your safety, Your Grace.» the Prince told her._

_But Elsa doesn't feel safe with him around. If anything, she feels threatened. She doesn't like the look in his eyes, the way he answers to Hans and Hans alone. And how could she? He's the man who has been collecting taxes and setting houses on fire when the people can't pay or try to resist. Why did he take in someone like that, she wonders? What business does that kind of man has with keeping people safe?_

_Of course, she has suspicions about the reason why, but she's too scared to utter it, even among her thoughts._

_The carriage stops so suddenly, Elsa is thrown off her seat and crumples on the ground – how she manages to avoid hitting her head against the other seat is a mystery to her. She tries to scramble to her feet to poke her head out and see what happened, but the cold edge of a blade against her throat freezes her on the spot._

_«Not a sound, Your Grace.» hisses the girl Elsa took in from the streets._

_Is it all a ruse, she wonders, perfectly still and silent. Has Hans found out she knows he's up to something? Is this his way to take care of the problem she has become? Having her killed in the forest by an unsuspectable sell-sword, and blaming the deed on one angry villager, making it look like the revenge of someone who lost everything because of the taxes?_

_She doesn't want to die. Not like that. Not before knowing what has become of Anna. Not before doing something. But what does she do? What canshe do?_

_She swallows, then whispers: «Please, you-»_

_«Shush.» the assassin cuts her short. Elsa can't help but wonder why she hasn't cut her throat yet._

_The carriage door swings open and lush blonde hair fill the entrance. Elsa recognizes her immediately: it's the townswoman who told her of the 'tragedy'. She climbs in._

_They make Elsa stand, then force her to take a seat, while the settle down in front of her. The door is still open, and for a second Elsa entertains the idea of running. However, she realizes how foolish that would be – they'd just strike her down, a knife buried between her shoulder blades, or perhaps an arrow fired by a hidden archer, maybe the same one who took down the soldiers accompanying her as well as her coachman. So she just shuffles in her seat, squares her shoulders and raises her chin._

_"At least I won't die cowering", she thinks as she asks: «What do you want?»_

_The blonde woman just toys with a knife. It's her dark-haired companion, the assassin in disguise, who speaks to her. «Answers.»_

_«Ask your questions, then.» better cut through the chase._

_Her reply seems to please her assailants. «Why did you take that boy in, after the hearing you held the other day?»_

_That is, most definitely, a question Elsa didn't expect. Is that what it is about? What does Olaf has to do with them?_

_«He is an orphan. The man who used to take care of him in can't afford to provide for him along with his own kids anymore, with the increased taxes, so he kicked him out.» she tells them, no hesitation in her voice. «I took him in.»_

_«He is none of your business.» the blonde one says, her eyes on the dancing silver glint of the blade._

_«He's a chid.» Elsa seethes. «Orphaned, and now homeless. Because of the Prince's taxes.» there's so much venom in her voice, both women are now looking at her. Elsa drops her gaze to her clenched hands in her lap. «He is my business. This is the least I can do for him. If I could do more, if I could prevent these things from happening or stopping them, I would. But…»_

_She falls silent. What's the point of venting to them? They're there to kill her, aren't they?_

_«I told you there was no way she was with him.»_

_Elsa almost breaks her own neck when her head whirls around. She knows that voice. God knows how she has missed that voice._

_«Anna!» she blurts as she tumbles out of the coach, any potential knife to her back completely forgotten, all but tripping in the open arms of the young redhead who has just materialized at the carriage door._

* * *

«I really thought you were there to kill me.» Elsa giggled, a smile settling on her lips as she recalled her reunion with her recently-outlawed sister.

«Please.» Duana broke in a short laughter. «Anna wouldn't have let us. Even if it turned out Raelyn was right about you being on board with the Prince's plot, she would have kidnapped you on the spot to 'get you back to your normal self, because he had clearly brainwashed you'.»

Oh, Anna. Her sweet, brave, bold little sister. She had never stopped believing in her.

«I am glad that you came with me to the castle, you know.» she told the dark-haired girl. «It's good to have someone I can talk with.»

«And plot with.» she added, making the Duchess' lips curl up into a smirk. She smiled back warmly, satisfied: she had managed to make her feel batter. «Come on, how about another game before bed?»

Elsa broke in a small laughter. «Haven't you had enough already?» she asked her. That was something like the fifth game in a row Duana had lost in one day alone.

«I'll learn, sooner or later.» she said with a shrug. «But I have a question about our last game first. Why did you sacrifice your knight instead of the bishop? It would have made for a faster checkmate.»

The Duchess seemed to ponder her question for a few moments. «I don't really know how to explain it. I guess I just… started drawing parallels.»

There was a beat of silence, then Duana nodded. «I understand.» she decided, and Elsa knew she did. She moved her white queen's pawn to D4. «Your turn, Your Grace.»

* * *

Hans let himself fall in the warm, cozy armchair in front of the fireplace. He gulped down the akvavit had poured himself – he had found out the Norwegian process to make that drink was very, very much different from the Danish method, and he liked the result quite a lot – then set the glass on the table. He heard the sound of liquor refilling the glass, but didn't look aside; instead, he brought his fingers together in front of him and stared at the fire crackling merrily.

_Elsa knew_.

He wasn't sure of what or how much he knew, but he was fairly certain that she had begun to understand something wasn't quite right. And that was probably the worst possible thing that could have happened, perhaps even worse than the whole Robin Hood incident.

When he had first set foot in Arendelle, for the fateful ball held in his honor three years back, everything had seemed quick and simple in his mind: he just had to charm Elsa and marry her. However, he had immediately ruled out the idea when he had seen how distant and cold Elsa acted towards, well, everybody; he had understood at once that he wouldn't have gotten anywhere with her.

Then Anna had waltzed in – quite literally. She had been very, oh so very easy to mesmerize, desperate as she was for friendship and comfort. He had let her rant about the loss of her parents, about the thorn of resentment she had been feeling towards her sister since she had pushed her away for good after assuming control of the Duchy, about her need and her hunger for new, positive emotions. He had offered her a smile, understanding, a glass of empty promises – and she had drunk it, every last drop.

It had been easy to extend his stay in Arendelle: a Duchesse couldn't refuse a Prince, his father probably hadn't even noticed he was away, and his brother had bigger fish to fry. For six months, everything had gone smoothly. Then, out of the blue, Anna had begun coming up with excuses to keep herself away from him. She had probably overheard him talking about something with Weselton during one of their meetings, he had realized after a bit, but by the time had decided to move to do something about it, she had fled.

That had been both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it allowed him to seize control of Arendelle, since Elsa wasn't able to do so, broken as she was from her sister's disappearance; also, it meant that he didn't have to find a way to get rid of Elsa anymore, he could have just waited and then moved on her once she had warmed up to him. On the other hand, he did feel a bit sorry about Anna: he wasn't in love with her and despised her gullibility, but she was fun to be around and had even managed to make him genuinely smile more than a few times.

Things had worsened when the days passed and Anna's body just wouldn't turn up. Given her upbringing, Hans had been sure that she would have died from the cold or from starvation in the forest, or that she would have been killed by some lowly form of life, but clearly that wasn't going to be the case. He didn't like the idea of being forced to dispose of her because she could ruin his plans for good, but he was ready to do so. Rolf Morten had been the perfect man to put in charge of his personal escort; putting him in charge of things and wrestling control of the city from Arendelle's guards had been almost too easy, with Elsa out of the picture.

He quite liked Morten. He was skilled, and he knew how to keep quiet, and as long as he could have his fun hunting someone, he had no qualms about accepting morally dubious or non-strictly-legal tasks … so he had given him a target. However, no matter how skilled or experienced the newly appointed Captain of his Garde was, Anna had slipped from his grasp time and time again. That bothered him, a lot: Morten had never failed any other of the assignments he had given him throughout his two years of partnership with Weselton.

That meant that he had sorely underestimated the redheaded young lady.

Every day Anna roamed free was a day of risks he would rather not take. Every ball she successfully infiltrated meant a horde of angry aristocrats whining with him because all their precious little trinkets had been somehow stolen – he could still feel the headache flare at the mere thought of the last complaint round after the last reception. Every robbery she pulled off thinned out the ranks of his supporters.

And he needed those supporters. He needed them to make Arendelle strong, and he needed to be in control of a strong Arendelle before his scheming uncle put his coup d'état into action and crowned his stupid little brother Val king of Denmark and of the Kalmar Union. Because with a strong Arendelle, and with all the problems with Sweden after the Stockholm Bloodbath, he was sure Val would have left him alone and pretty much independent. He would have never acted to bring him under his control – Val had always been a softie, after all.

To make everything worse, as if Anna's dangerous meddling with his allies wasn't bad enough already, Elsa hadn't warmed up to him. At all. As bothersome as that was, he hadn't really seen it as a threat: his allies were such because they didn't want a scared little girl running the Duchy, after all. However, if the reason of her keeping her distance wasn't due to some sort of inbred coldness, but to some kind of lurking suspicion, it was bad. If that was the case, she was never going to warm up to him. She was never going to accept the marriage proposal he had been waiting to make her. She was never going to hand him the reins of her Duchy – actually, she was probably going to do everything in her power to kick him out of it.

That wouldn't do.

He had to find out if, and what, Elsa knew, and if she had any means to communicate with her masquerading little sister.

«How is your surveillance going?» he asked out loud as he reached for the akvavit-refilled glass.

Morten clicked his tongue. «I haven't come across anything that might indicate some sort of… awareness, Your Highness.»

That could mean that either that stupid page-boy and the quiet servant girl knew nothing, or that they knew everything and were being exceptionally careful to not get caught. He let the akvavit rotate within its crystal vessel, admiring its rich amber color. «And you're sure you never lost them?»

«The child is impossible to lose.» the dark-haired man snorted. «He makes so much noise anywhere he goes, they can probably hear him all the way to Fylkesskog Forest. About the girl…» he fell silent, searching for the words. Hans stopped twirling the glass in his hand, alert. «I thought I had, when she snuck in the baths. I thought she was trying to lose me. However she came out of there after a while, accompanied by that crone of a servant.»

Behind Hans' back, Rolf cringed at the memory of the angry lecture the old bat had given him about 'stalking pretty girls'.

«If Gerda is one of Elsa's, she might have been covering for her. Keep watching her the girl.» the Prince ordered him, and he nodded with a small grin. «You don't have to keep tabs on the page-boy anymore, unless he leaves the castle grounds. He might meet with Anna.»

Yes, that little boy would have been a great information vessel between the two sisters. If only he could prove it, he could use it…

«By your orders, Your Highness.»

He drank from his glass, the liquor scalding his throat. Morten refilled it. When he heard the noise of the crystal bottle being set down, Hans dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. He sighed as the door closed.

Elsa knew.

The more he thought about it, the more everything she had been doing made sense. Insisting to participate to the gatherings. Being present for every ball and social event, even when it was so clear she didn't enjoy them. Holding those hearings and picking up all those strays – a great way to get in touch with Anna. She was trying to get her Duchy back.

Maybe he was letting his paranoia get the better of him, but for a moment he entertained the idea that the tea party she had scheduled for the following day was some kind of war meeting. Then he laughed at his own thought. Elsa didn't have that kind of support. And they were only a flock of hens. They weren't going to scheme behind his back, they were going to prattle about bonnets and flowers and gossip about what their servant girls had overheard in the market.

In the mean time, he would have kept company to their husbands to strengthen his ties with them and gain their support. Oh, yes, he would have turned her little social occasion against her.

So Elsa knew. So what?

It didn't matter. She had no proof – there was none, of that he was absolutely positive; even his partners din't know what his ultimate goal was. She was powerless. If anything, it made things a lot easier, for he could simply blackmail her into marrying him. He only needed the right leverage…

* * *

Elsa smiled warmly as she saw Lady Baerd out of the cozy drawing room. The woman held her hands in hers for a while as she fussed over her, recommending to keep warm, to sleep and eat enough, and above all, to keep running circles around that poser of a prince. She then pinched her cheek and trotted away, her dear Alexander waiting for her in the hallway with fondness etched in eyes.

The Duchess smiled and waved gracefully at them, knowing that an invitation for tea of their own was coming in that very night. After all, Alexander had spent the whole day with Hans, and he had surely picked up one or two things she probably would like to know about. A shame Hans wasn't going to let her visit them… and Margrethe knew that. That was why, in her letter, Elsa would find every information she desired, properly concealed by the coding system they had come up with when the Prince had started hindering her movements, practically keeping her locked in the castle with her safety as an excuse.

She went back to the drawing room with a small smile on her face. Tea had been great, as it usually was. Her friends had proven to be insightful, sharp, and as willing to help as ever. She couldn't wait to pass all of the tips they had given her to Anna.

"Soon…" she sighed, her smile faltering.

«Are you okay, Milady?» a sixteen-year-old girl asked her when she saw her on the doorstep.

Elsa caught herself. «Lady Lena.» she acknowledged, noticing that she was the only one who still had to leave. «I am quite fine, thank you. But has your Lord Husband not come to look for you yet?»

«No, Your Grace, not yet.» she answered with a shrug. «I assume he is still conversing with His Highness. As you had anticipated when you first extended your invitation to me, he was ecstatic to have a chance to spend time with him.»

Elsa's eyes sharpened, and she closed the door. «Of course. Tell me, Lena, how are you?»

«Things have… improved since I last saw you, Milady.» she told her with a polite but cold smile, her fingers absentmindedly brushing the side of her face she had been forced to carefully hide during the ball. «But…» she trailed off, then shook her head. Elsa could see it was taking everything for her not to curl up in the armchair she sat in. «I am very grateful for your invitations, Your Majesty. They are my saving grace. For this, I am in your debt.»

It was the Duchess' turn to shake her head. «Nonsense, my dear. It is my pleasure to have you with us for our little gatherings. Oh, before it slips my mind: I had something made for you.» she waved her hand, and Duana handed her a small square of cloth.

She took it and handed the handkerchief to Lena, who unfolded it with flushed cheeks and admiration in her eyes. «Oh, Your Grace, this is lovely!» she peeped, one of her fingers trailing the intricate, one-of-a-kind snowflakes embroidered on the edges. «But you shouldn't have gone through this kind of trouble!»

«No trouble.» Elsa smiled, a faint conspiratorial look flashing across her sky blue irises. «It's a small token I like to present to all of my closest friends among my court. Do treasure it, will you? One never knows when it could come in handy.» the girl nodded slowly, and she winked. «Come now, let's see if we can locate this Lord Husband of yours.»

The Duchess silently applauded Lena for her acting skills: not a grimace escaped her when they strode towards Hans and his new friend once they spotted them near the entrance to the castle.

Lord Haugen was everything Elsa expected him to be: impeccable in his clothes and manners, haughty and condescending, clearly full of himself, and engaged in a hushed conversation with Prince Hans of Denmark.

He greeted her formally, paid little to no attention to his much younger wife, fawned over His Highness a little longer, and then smiled charmingly. «Shall we expect another invitation for these wonderful teas, Your Grace?»

Elsa gave him a charming smile of her own. «Oh, most certainly, Lord Haugen. However, I'm afraid I won't be holding any until after Allehelgensdag.»

He immediately bowed his head to her, looking contrite. «Of course, Milady. Forgive me, that was… indelicate of me.»

«No harm done. And thank you for your understanding.» she said, and then reached out to take her friend's hands in her own with the sweetest of smiles. «But you will write to me in the mean time, won't you, Lena? I would love that.»

The girl smiled back, but it was Lord Haugen who answered for her. «Most certainly, Your Grace. It will be our pleasure. And perhaps…» he added hungrily. «…as we do, we could also send our regards to His Highness?»

Hans smiled to him with practiced ease. «Any friend of Elsa is a friend of mine.»

Elsa smiled during the rest of the smalltalk, and Lena never said a word. When the couple curtsied their goodbye to Duchess and Prince, Elsa found Lena's eyes looking for her through her chestnut bangs. There was fear creeping in those eyes, she realized, a fear that grew stronger when her husband took her hand and led her towards their carriage.

«Come, my darling.»

Elsa gave her a nod of encouragement, knowing it wasn't going to protect her once they were away from the castle grounds… but still, she hoped it would at least comfort her. The girl held the snowflake-hemmed handkerchief tightly in her hand.

«How was tea, Your Grace?» Hans asked her as they walked back in the palace, his hands neatly clasped behind his back. His smile looked perfectly amiable, but his eyes were cold as steel, and alert.

Elsa feigned unawareness. «Oh, it was lovely, Your Highness. Lady Maribelle brought us a wonderful tea she just received from her relatives in England.»

«How precious of her.» he offered, condescendingly. «I didn't know that Lor Völlr had married an English.»

«She's a childhood friend of her sister.» she explained. «They met during a trip across the sea with their parents. The girls became inseparable, to the point that Lord Völlr simply _had_ to ask for the girl's hand.»

Elsa could practically see him scratching Lord Völlr's name off of his mental list – of course, a man so subservient of a woman close to Elsa wasn't going to be a reliable partner in crime for him.

«But of course, I am sure that is just how dear Alissa likes to tell that story.» she added; as much as she enjoyed how Hans looked like he had just bitten a lemon, there was already Alexander he was wary of. It wouldn't do to make him feel surrounded by potential supporters of her own.

«Ah, but of course. That did not sound like Bláinn at all.» Hans said, looking relieved. «What did you ladies talk about? How to style your hair for Allehelgensdag?»

He was deliberately belittling her, clearly trying to provoke her; Elsa saw right through it and walked effortlessly around the trap: instead of giving him any sign of her being more intelligent than what he had so bluntly assumed, she humored him: «Why, yes. And actually, if you excuse me, I would like for my attendant to practice the braided bun we discussed. Your Highness.»

She bowed respectfully, and with that, she took her leave. She didn't have time for his mocking and his baiting. Allehelgensdag was right around the corner, after all, and she had much to do to make sure everything was safe for Anna.

"Soon…" she thought, and smiled as she close her room's door behind her.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Look at that, I actually updated in a decent time!  
And the next chapter is also already all laid out and partially written. Apparently work (and boredom at work in particular) is good for my writing!  
Also, first time trying my hand with Hans. Tell me how I did?


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